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WILKIE COLLINS, 




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■4:6B Fixltion. 




OomiiGET BY Tna Joan W* LovEtt* CovpAJrr, 



j^DEVOT^ TO THE B EST ~ C U R'R'ENrT^8< STA N D AR D LITERATURE. 


Volume 1, No 24. Sept. 2, 1882. Issued Weekly. Annual Subscription, 52 numbers, $8.00 

TPIE NEW MAGDALEN. 


First Scene — The Cottage on the Frontier^ 


Preamble. 

The place is France. 

The time is autumn, in the year eighteen hundred and sev- 
enty — the year of the war between France and Germany. 

The persons are : Captain Arnault, of the French army ; 
Surgeon Surville, of the French ambulance ; Surgeon Wetzel, 
of the German army ; Mercy Merrick, attached as nurse to the 
French ambulance ; and Grace Roseberry, a travelling lady on 
her way to England. 


CHAPTER L 

THE TWO WOMEN. 

t T was a dark night. The rain was pouring in torrents. 

Late in the evening a skirmishing party of the French 
and a skirmishing party of the Germans had met, by 
accident, near the little village of Lagnange, close to the Ger- 
man frontier. In the struggle that followed, the French had 
(for once) cot the better of the enemy. For the time, at least, 
a few hundreds out of the host of the invaders had been forced 
back over the frontier. It was a trifling affair, occurring not 
long after the great German victory of Weissenbourg, .and th© 
newspapers took little or uo notice of it. 


THK KlfiW MAUliALSW. 


Captain Arnault, commanding on the French side, sat alone 
in one of the cottages of the village, inhabited by the miller of 
the district. The captain was reailing, by the light of a solitary 
tallow candle, some intercepted despatches taken from the Ger- 
mans. He had suffered the wood hre, scattered over the large 
open grate, to burn low ; the red embers only faintly illumi- . 
Dated a part of the room. On the floor behind him lay some 
of the miller’s empty sacks. In a corner opposite to him was 
the miller’s solid walnut-wood bed. On the walls all round 
him were the miller’s coloured prints, representing a happy mix- 
ture of devotional and domestic subjects. A door of commu- 
nication leading into the kitchen of the cottage had been torn 
from its hinges, and used to carry the men wounded in the 
skirmish from the field. They were now comfortably laid at 
rest in the kitchen, under the care of the French surgeon and 
the English nurse attached to the ambulance. A piece of coarse 
canvas screened the opening between the two rooms, in place 
of the door. A second door, leading from the bedchamber 
into the yar^, was locked ; and the wooden shutter protecting 
the one window'of the room was carefully barred. Sentinels, 
doubled in number, were placed at all the outposts. The French 
commander had neglected no precaution which could reason- 
ably insure for himself and for his men a quiet and comfortable 
night. 

Still absorbed in his perusal of the despatches, and now and 
then making notes of what he read by the help of writing ma- 
terials placed at his side. Captain Arnault was interrupted by 
the appearance of an intruder in the room. Surgeon Survilie, 
entering from the kitchen, drew aside the canvas screen, ancl 
approached the little round table at which his superior officer 
was sitting. 

“ What is it 1 ” said the captain sharply. 

‘‘ A question to ask,” replied the surgeon. Are we safe for 
the night % ” 

“ Why do you want to kno-w inquired the captain, sus- 
piciously. 

The surgeon pointed to the kitchen — now the hospital de- 
voted to the wounded men. 

“ The poor fellows are anxious about the next few hours,” he 
replied, “ They drejid a surprise ; and they ask mo if there isfjf 


TUE TWO WOMEN. 3 

any reasonable hope of* their having one night’s rest. What 
do you think of the chances'?” 

The captain shrugged his shoulders. The surgeon persisted. 
‘‘Surely you ought to know'?” he said. 

“ I know that we are in possession of the village for the 
present,” retorted Captain Arnault, “ and I know no more. 
Here are the papers of the enemy.” He held them up, and 
shook them impatiently as he spoke. “ They give me no in- 
formation that I can rely on. For all I can tell to the contrary, 
the main body of the Germans, outnumbering us ten to one, 
may be nearer this cottage than the main body of the French. 
Hiaw your own conclusions. 1 have nothing more to say.” 

. Having answered in those discouraging terms, Captain 
Arnault got on his feet, drew the hood of his great coat, over 
his head, and lit a cigar at the candle. 

“ Where are you going '?” asked the surgeon. 

“To visit the outposts.” 

“ Do you want this room for a little while F’ 

“ Not for some hours to come. Are you thinking of moving 
any of your wounded men in here?” 

“ I was thinking of the English lady,” answered the surgeon. 
“ The kitchen is not quite the place for her. She would be 
more comfortable here ; and the English nurse might keep her 
company.” 

Captain Arnault smiled, not very pleasantly. “ They are two 
fine women,” he said, “ and Surgeon Survilie is a ladies’ man. 
Let them come in, if they are rash enough to trust themselves 
liere with you.” He checked himself on the point of going out, 
and looked back distrustfully at the lighted candle. “Caution 
tiie women,” he said, “ to limit the exercise ot their curiosity 
to the inside of this room.” 

“ What do you mean ?” 

The captain’s forefinger pointed significantly to the closed 
window-shutter. 

“ Did you ever know a woman who could resist looking out of 
tlie window '?” he asked. “ Dark as it is, sooner or later these 
ladies of yours will feel tempted to open that shutter, d'ell them 
I don’t want the light of the candle to betray my licad-quarters 
to the German scouu. Hov/ is the weather ? Still raining 1 ** 

“Pouring.” 


4 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


“ So mncli the better. The Germans won’t see ns.” AVith 
that consolatory remark he unlocked the door leading into the 
yard, and walked out. 

The surgeon lifted the canvas screen and called into the 
kitchen : 

“ Miss Merrick, have you time to take a little rest 

“ Plenty of time,” answered a soft voice, with, an underlying 
melancholy in it, plainly distinguishable though it had only 
spoken three words. 

“ Come in then,” continued the surgeon, and bring the 
English lady with you. Here is a quiet room, all to your- 
selves.” 

He held back the canvas, and the two women appeared. 

The nurse led the way — tall, lithe, and graceful — attired in 
her uniform dress of neat black stuff, with plain linen collar 
and cuffs, and with the scarlet cross of the Geneva Convention 
einbroidererl on her left shoulder. Pale and sad, her expres- 
sion and her manner both eloquently suggestive of suppressed 
suffering and sorrow, there was an innate nobility in the car- 
riage of this woman’s head, an innate grandeur in the gaze of 
her large grey eyes and in the lines of her finely-proportioned 
face, whi^i made her irresistibly striking and beautiful, seen 
under any circumstances and clad in any dress. Her companion, 
darker in complexion and smaller in stature, possessed attrac- 
tions which were quite marked enough to account for the sur- , 
geon’s polite anxiety to shelter her in the captain’s room. The 
common consent of mankind would have declared her to be an 
unusually pretty woman. She wore the large grey cloak that 
covered her from head to foot, wdth a grace that lent its own 
attractions to a plain and even a shabby article of dress. Tlio 
languor in her movements, and the uncertainty of tone in her 
voice as she thanked the surgeon, suggested that she was suffer- 
ing from fatigue. Her dark eyes searched the dimly-lighted 
room timidly, and she held fast by the nurse’s arm with the 
air of a woman whose nerves had been severely shaken by some 
recent alarm. 

“ You have one thing ro remember, ladies,” said the surgeon. 
“Bewai'e of opening the shutter, for fear of the light being seen 
through the window. For the rest, we are free to make our- 
aelves as comfortable here as we can. Compose yourself, dear 


THE TWO WOMEN. 


5 


madam, and rely on the protection of a Frenchman who is de- 
voted to you I ” He gallantly emphasised his last words by 
raising the hand of the English lady to his lips. At the mo- 
ment when he kissed it the canvas screen was again drawn 
aside. A person in the service of the ambulance appeared ; an- 
nouncing that a bandage had slipped, and that one of tin* 
wounded men was to all appearance bleeding to death. Tin- 
surgeon, submitting to destiny with the worst possible grace, 
tlropped the charming Englishwoman’s hand, and returned to 
his duties in the kitchen. The two ladies were left together in 
the room. 

“ Will you take a chair, madam 1” asked the nurse. 

“Don’t call me ‘madam,’” returned the young lady cor- 
dially. “ My name is Grace Eoseberry. What is your name 

The nurse hesitated. “ Not a pretty name like yours,” she 
said, and hesitated again. “ Call me ‘ Mercy Merrick,’ ” she 
added, after a moment’s consideration. 

Had she given an assumed name ? Was there some unhappy 
celebrity attached to her own name? Miss Eoseberry did not 
wait to ask herself those questions. “ How can I thank you,” 
she exclaimed, gratefully, “ for your sisterly kindness to a 
stranger like meT” 

“ 1 have only done my duty,” said Mercy Merrick, a little 
coldly. “ Don’t speak of it.” 

“ I must speak of it. What a situation you found me in 
when the French soldiers had driven the Germans away ! ]\Iy 
travelling carriage stopped ; the horses seized ; I myself in a 
strange country at nightfall, robbed of my money and my lug- 
gage, and drenched to the skin by the pouring rain ! 1 am in- 

debted to you for shelter in this place — I am wearing your clothes, 
— 1 should have died of the fright and the exposure but for 
you. What return can I make for such services as these 1 ” 

Mercy placed a chair for her guest near the captain’s table, 
and seated herself, at some little distance, on an old chest in a 
corner of the room. “ May I ask you a question ? ” she said, 
abruptly. 

“ A hundred questions,” cried Grace, “ if you like.” She 
looked at the expiring fire, and at the dimly visible figure of 
her companion seated in the obscurest corner of the room. 
“That wretched candle hard’ ves any light,” she said im- 


6 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


patiently. “It won’t last much longer. Can’t we mjihe the 
place more cheerful ? Come out of your corner. Call for more 
wood and more lights.” 

Mercy remained in her corner and shook her head. “ Can- 
dles and wood are scarce things here,” she answered. “ Wq 
must be patient, even if we are left in the dark. Tell me,” slie 
went on, raising her quiet voice a little, “ how came you to risk 
crossing the frontier in war time? ” 

Grace’s voice dropped when she answered the question. 
Grace’s momentary gaiety of manner suddenly left her. 

I had urgent reasons,” she said, “for returning to England.” 

“ Alone? ” rejoined the other. “ Without any one to protect 
you ? ” 

Grace’s head sank on her bosom. “ I have left my only pro- 
tector— my father — in the English burial-ground at Rome,” she 
answered simply. “'My mother died, years since, in Canada.” 

The shadowy figure of the nurse suddenly changed its posi- 
tion on the chest. She had started as the last word passed 
Miss Ro.seberry’s lips. 

“ Do you know Canada?” asked Grace. 

“Well,” was the brief answer — reluctantly given, short as it 
was. 

“ Were you ever near Port Logan ?” 

“ I once lived within a few miles of Port Lo^-an ? ” 

“When?” ° 

“Some time since.” With those words Mercy Merrick 
shrank back into her corner and changed the subject. “ Your • 
relatives in England must be very anxious about you,” she said. 

Grace sighed. “ I have no relatives in England. You can 
hardly imagine a person more friendless than 1 am. We went 
away from Canada, when my father’s health failed, to try the 
climate of Italy by tlie doctor’s advice. Ilis death has left me 
7iot only friendless but poor.” She paused, and took a leather 
letter-case from the pocket of the large grey cloak which tlio 
nurse had lent to her. “ My prospects in life,” she resumed, 

“ are all contained in this little case. , Here is the one treasure 
I contrived to conceal when I was robbexl of my other thiIn^s.” 

Mercy could just see the letter-case as Grace held it up inTlio 
deepening obscurity of the room. “ Have you got monev in 
it ? ” siie asked. ^ 


THE IWU vVuMiiN. 


“ No ; only a few family papers, and a letter from my father 
Introducing me to an elderly lady in England — a connection of 
liis i)y marriage, whom 1 have never seen. The lady has con- 
sented to receive me as her companion and reader. If I don’t 
return to England soon some other person may get the place.” 

‘‘ Rave yon no other resource ? ” 

“ None. My education has been neglected — we led a wild 
life in the far West. I am quite unfit to go out as a gover- 
ness. I am absolutely dependent on this stranger who receives 
me for my father s sake.” She put the letter-case back in the 
pocket of her cloak, and ended her little narrative as unaffect- 
edly as she had begun it. “ Mine is a sad story, is it not I” she 
said. 

The voice of the nurse answered her suddenly and bitterly 
in these strange words .• 

“ There are sadder stories than yours. There are thousands 
of miserable women who would ask for no greater blessing than 
to change places with You.” 

Grace started. “ What can there possibly be to envy in such 
a lot as mine?” 

“ Your unblemished character, and your prospect of being es- 
tablished honourably in a respectable house.” 

Grace turned in her chair, and looked woiideringly into the 
dim corner of tlie room. 

“ How strangely you say that ! ” she exclaimed. There was 
no answer ; the shadowy figure on the chest never moved. 
Grace rose impulsively, and drawing her chair after her, ap- 
proached the nurse. “Is there some romance in your life 
she asked. “ Why have you sacrificed yourself to the terrible 
duties which I find you performing here ? You interest me in- 
describably. Give me your hand.” 

Ivlercy shrank back, and refused the offered hand. 

“ Are we not friends ? ” Grace asked, in astonishment. 

“ We can never be friends.” 

“ AVhy not ? ” 

Tiie nurse was dumb. Grace called to mind the hesitation 
that she l ad shown when she had mentioned her name, and 
drew a new conclusion from it. “ Should I be guessing right,” 
she asked eagerly, “ if I guessed you to be some great lady in 
disguise ? ” 


8 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


Mercy laughed to herself — low and bitterly. a great 
lady 1 ” she said contemptuously. “ For heaven’s sake, let us 
talk of something else ! ” 

Grace’s curiosity was thoroughly roused. She persisted. 
“ Once more,” she whispered persuasively. “ Let us be friends.’* 
She gently laid her hand as she spoke on Mercy’s shoulder. 
Mercy roughly shook it off. There was a rudeness in the action 
which would have offended the most patient woman living. 
Grace drew back indignantly. “ Ah ! ” she cried, “ you are 
cruel.” 

“ I am kind,” answered the nurse, speaking more sternly than 
ever. 

“ Is it kind, to keep me at a distance ? I have told you my 
story.” 

The nurse’s voice rose excitedly. Don’t tempt me to 
speak out,” she said ; “ you will regret it.” 

Grace declined to accept the warning. ** I have placed con- 
fidence in you,” she went on. “ It is ungenerous to lay me 
under an obligation, and then to shut me out of your conhdence 
in return.” 

“ You vnll have it ?” said Mercy Merrick. “ You aliall have 
it ! Sit down again.” Grace’s heart began to quicken its beat 
in expectation of the disclosure that was to come. She drew 
her chair closer to the chest on which the nurse was sitting. 
With a firm hand Mercy put the chair back to a distance from 
her. “Not so near me ! ” she said harshly. 

“ Why not % ” 

“ Not so near,’' repeated the sternly resolute voice. “ Wait 
till you have heard what 1 have to say.” 

Grace obeyed without a word more. There was a momen- 
tary silence. A faint flash of light leapt up from the exi)iring 
candle, and showed Mercy crouching on the chest, with iier 
elbo\vs on her knees, and her face hidden in her hands. The 
next instant the room was buried in obscurity. As the dark- 
ness fell on the two women the nurse spoke. 


MAGDALEN — IN MODEllN TlMEa 


CHAPTER IL 


MAGDALEN — IN MODERN TIMEa 

HEN your mother was alive were you ever out with 
her after night fall in the streets of a great city ? ” 

^ In those extraordinary terms Mercy Merrick 

opened the confidential interview which Grace Roseberry had 
forced on her. Grace answered simply, “ 1 don’t understand 
you.” 

“I will put it in another way,” said the nurse. Its unnatu- 
ral hardness and sternness of tone passed away from her voice, 
and its native gentleness and sadness returned, as she made 
that reply. ‘‘ You read the newspapers like the rest of the 
world,” she went on ; “ have you ever read of your unhappy 
fellow-creatures (the starving outcasts of the population) whom 
Want has driven into Sin.” 

Still wondering, Grace answered that she had read of such 
things often, in newspapers and in books. 

Have you heard — when those starving and sinning fellow- 
creatures happened to be women — of Refuges established to 
protect and reclaim them 1 ” 

The wonder in Grace’s mind passed away, and a vague sus- 
picion of something painful to come took its place. “ These 
are extraordinary questions,” she said nervously. “ What do you 
mean 1 ” 

“ Answer me,” the nurse insisted. “ Have you heard of the 
Refuges? Have you heard of the Women ?” 

“ Yes.” 

‘‘ Move your chair a little larther away from me.” She paused. 
Her voice, without losing its steadiness, fell to its lowest tones. 
** I was once of those women,” she said quietly. 

Grace sprang to her leet with a faint cry. She stood petri- 
fied — incapable of uttering a word.' 

I have been in a Re. age,” pursued the sweet sad voice of 
the other woman. “ 1 have been in a Prison. Do ytu still 


10 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


wish to be my friend ? Do you still insist on sitting close by 
me and taking my hand? ” She waited for a reply, and no re- 
ply came. “ You see you were wrong,” she went on gently, 
“ when you called me cruel — and I was right when I told you 
I was kind.” 

At that appeal Grace composed herself, and spoke. I don’t 
wish to offend you,’" she began comfusedly. 

Mercy Merrick stopped her there. 

“ You don’t offend me,” she said, without the faintest note 
of displeasure in her tone. “ I am accustomed to stand in the 
pillory of my own past life. I sometimes ask myself if it was 
all my fault. I sometimes wonder if Society had no duties to- 
wards me when I was a child selling matches in the street — 
wdien I was a hard-working girl, fainting at my needle for wmnt 
of food.” Her voice faltered a little for the first time as it pro- 
nounced those words ; she waited a moment, and recovered 
herself. “ It’s too late to dwell on these things now,” she said 
resignedly. “ Society can subscribe to reclaim me — but Society 
can’t take me back. You see me here in a place of trust— ^pa- 
tiently, humbly, doing all the good I can. It doesn’t matter ! 
Here, or elsewhere, what I am can never alter what I was. For 
three years past, all that a sincerely penitent -woman can do I 
have (lone. It doesn’t matter ! Once let my past story be 
known, and the shadow of it covers me ; the kindest people 
shrink.” 

She waited again. Would a word of sympathy come to com- 
fort her from the other woman’s lips ? No ! Miss Roseberry 
was- shocked; Miss Roseberry was confused. “1 am very 
sorry for you,” was all that Miss Roseberry could say. 

“ Everybody is sorry for me,” answered ^he nurse, as patiently 
as ever ; “ everybody is kind to me. But the lost place is not 
to be regained. I can’t get back ! I can’t get back ! ” she cried, 
with a passionate outburst of despair — checked instantly, tlio 
moirumt it had escaped her. “ Shall I tell you what my ex- 
perience has been ? ” she resumed “ Will you hear the story 
of IMagdalen — in modern times ? ” 

Grace drew back a step ; Mercy instantly understood her. 

“lam going to tell you nothing that you need shrink from 
hearing,” she said. “A lady in your position would not un- 
dei .Aand the trials and the struggles that I have passed through. 


MAGDALEN — IN MODERN TIMES. 


11 


My story sliall begin at the Hefnge. The matron sent me ont 
to service with the character that I had honestly earned - the 
cliaracter of a reclaimed woman. 1 justified the confidence 
placed ill me; 1 was a faithful servant. One day, riiy mistress 
sent for me — a kind mistress, if ever there was one yet. ‘Mercy, 
I am sorry for you ; it has come out that I took you from a 
Kefugc ; I shall lose every servant in the house ; you must go.’ 
I went back to the matron — another kind woman. She re- 
ceived me like a mother. ‘ We will try again, Mercy ; don’t 
be cast down.’ I told you I had been in Canada ? ” 

Grace began to feel interested in spite of herself. She an- 
swered with something like warmth in her tone. She returned 
to her chair — placed at its safe and significant distance from 
the chest. 

The nurse went on. 

“ My next place was in Canada, with an officer’s wife : gen- 
tlefolks who had emigrated. More kindness ; and, this time, a 
pleasant peaceful life for me. I said to myself, ‘Is the lost place 
regained 1 Have I got back 1 ’ My mistress died. New peo- 
ple came into our neighbourhood. There was a young lady 
among them — my master began to think of another wife. I 
have the misfortune (in my situation) to be what is ccdled a 
handsome woman ; I rouse the curiosity of strangers. Tlie new 
people asked questions about me ; my master’s answers did not 
satisfy them. In a word, they found me out. The old story 
again! ‘Mercy, I am very sorry; scandal is busy with you 
and with me ; we are innocent, but there is no help for it — we 
must part.’ I left the place ; having gained one advantage 
during inv stay in Canada, which 1 find of use to me here.” 

“What is it?” 

“ Our nearest neighbours were French Canadians. I learnt 
£0 speak the French language.” 

“ Did you return to London ? ” 

“ Vyiiere else could I go, without a character said Mercy, 
sadly. “I went back again to the matron. Sickness had 
broken out in the Refuge, I made myself useful as a nurse. One 
of the doctors was struck with me — ‘ fell in love * with me, as 
the phrase is. He would have married me. The nurse, as an 
honest woman, was bound to tell him the truth. He never ap- 
peared again. The old story ! 1 began to be weary of saying 


12 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


to myself, ‘I can’t get back ! I can’t get back ! ’ Despair got 
hold of me, the despair that hardens the heart. I niigdit have 
committed suicide ; 1 might even have drifted back into my 
old life — but for one man.” 

At those last words, her voice — quiet and even through the 
earlier parts of her sad story — began to falter once more. She 
stopped ; following silently the memories and associations 
roused in her by what she had just said. Had she forgotten 
the presence of another person in the room 'I Grace’s curiosity 
left Grace no resource but to say a word on her side. 

“Who was the man she asked. “ How did he befriend 
you 1 

“ Befriend me 1 He doesn’t even know that such a person 
as I am is in existence.” 

That strange answer, naturally enough, only strengthened 

the anxiety of Grace to hear more. “ You said just now ” 

she began. 

“ I said just now that he saved me. He did save me ; you 
shall hear how. One Sunday, our regular clergyman at the 
Refuge was not able to officiate. His place was taken by a 
stranger, quite a young man. The matron told us the stranger’s 
name was Julian Gray. I sat in the back row of seats, under 
the shadow of the gallery, where I could see him without his 
seeing me. His text was from the words, ‘Joy shall be in 
Heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety 
and nine just persons which need no repentance.’ What hap- 
pier women might have thought of his sermon I cannot say ; ' 
there was not a dry eye among us at the Refuge. As for me, 
he touched my heart as no man has touched it before or since. 
The hard despair melted in me at the sound of his voice ; the 
weary round of my life showed its nobler side again while he 
spoke. From that time I have accepted my hard lot, I hove 
been a patient woman. I might have been something more, I 
might have been a happy woman, if I could have prevailed on 
myself to speak to Julian Gray.” 

“ What hindered you from speaking to him 1 ” 

“ I was afraid.” 

“ Afraid of what 'I ” 

“Afraid of making ray hard life harder still.” 

A woman who could have sympathized with her would per- 


MAGDALEN — IN MODERN TIMES. 


13 


haps have guessed what those words meant. Grace was simply 
embarrassed by her ; and Grace failed to guess. 

“I don’t understand you,” she said. 

There was no alternative for Mercy but to own the truth in 
plain words. She sighed, and said the words. “ I was afraid 
I might interest him in my ^rrows, and might set my heart on 
him in return.” 

The utter absence of any fellow-feeling with her on Grace’s 
side expressed itself unconsciously in the plainest terms. 

You!” she exclaimed, in a tone of blank astonishment. 

The nurse rose slowly to her feet. Grace’s expression of sur- 
prise told her plainly — almost brutally — that her confession 
had gone far enough. 

‘‘ I astonish you she said. “ Ah, my young lady, you 
don’t know what rough usage a woman’s heart can bear, and 
still beat truly ! Before I saw Julian Gray I only knew men 
as objects of horror to me. Let us drop the subject. The 
preacher at the Eefuge is nothing but a remembrance now — 
the one welcome remembrance of my life I I have nothing 
more to tell you. You insisted on hearing my story — you 
have heard it.” 

“ I have not heard how you found employment here,” said 
Grace ; continuing the conversation with uneasy politeness, as 
she best might. 

Mercy crossed the room, and slowly raked together the last 
living embers of the fire. 

“The matron has friends in France,” she answered, “who 
are connected with the military hospitals. It was not difficult 
to get me the place, under those circumstances. Society can 
find a use for me here. My hand is as light, my words of com- 
fort are as welcome among those suffering wretches” (she 
pointed to the room in which the wound' d men were lying) 

as if I was the most reputable woman breathing. And if a 
stray shot comes my way before the war is over — well! Society 
will be rid of me on easy terms.” 

She stood looking thoughtfully into the wreck of the fire — 
as if she saw in it the wreck of her own life. Common hu- 
manity made it an act of necessity to say something to her. 
Grace considered — advanced a step toward h(^r — stopix^d — and 
took refuge in the most trivial of all the cuinmou phiases which 
one human being can address to another. 


14 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


If there is anything I can do for you ” , she began. 

The sentence, halting there^ was never finished. Idiss Ito.se 
berry was just merciful enough towards the lost woman who 
had rescued and sheltered her, to feel that it was needless to 
gay more. 

The nurse lifted her noble head, and advanced slowly to- 
wards the canvas screen to return to her duties. *' Miss Rose- 
berry might liave taken my hand !” she thought to herself, bit- 
terly. No ! Miss Roseb(}rry stood there at a distance, at a 
loss what to say next. What can you do for me?” Mercy 
asked, stung by the cold courtesy of her companion into a mo- 
mentary outbreak of Qonterapt. “ Can you change my identity ? 
Can you give me the name and the place of an innocent wo- 
man ? If I only had your chance ! If I only had your reputa- 
tion and your prospects !” She laid one hand over her bosom, 
and controlled herself. “ Stay here,” she resumed, “ while I go 
back to my work. I will see that your clothes are dried. You 
shall wear my clothes as short a time as possible.” 

With those melancholy words — touchingly, not bitterly 
spoken — she moved to pass into the kitchen, when she noticed 
that the pattering sound of the rain against the window was 
audible no more. Dropping the canvas for the moment, she 
retraced her steps, and, unfastening the wooden shutter, looked 
out. 

The moon was rising dimly in the watery sky ; the rain had 
ceased: the friendly darkness which had hidden the French 
position from the German scouts was lessening every moment. 
In a few hours more (if nothing happened) the English lady 
might resume her journey. In a few hours more the morning 
would dawn. 

Mercy lifted her hand to close the shutter. Before she could 
fasten it the report of a rifle shot reached the cottage from one 
of the distant posts. It was followed almost instantly by a 
second report, nearer and louder than the first. Mercy paused, 
with the shutter in her hand, and listened intently for the next 
sound* 


THE GERMAN SHELL. 


15 


CHAPTER HI. 

THE GERMAN SHELL. 

t THIRD rifle shot rang through the night air, close to 
the cottage. Grace started and approached the win- 
dow in alarm. 

“ What does that firing mean ? ” she asked. 

** Signals from the outposts,” the nurse quietly i*eplied. 

“ Is there any danger ? Have the Germans come back ? ’* 
Surgeon Surville answered the question. He lifted the can- 
vas screen, and looked into the room as Miss Roseberry spoke. 

“ The Germans are advancing on us,” he said. “ Their van- 
guard is in sight.” 

Grace sank on the chair near her, trembling from head to 
foot. Mercy advanced to the surgeon, and put the decisive 
question to him : 

“ Do we defend the position 1 ” she inquired. 

Surgeon Surville ominously shook his head. 

“ Impossible ! We are out-numbered as usual" ten to one.” 
The shrill roll of the French drums was heard outside. 

“ There is the retreat sounded 1 ” said the surgeon. “ The 
captain is not a man to think twice about what he does. We 
are left to take care of ourselves. In five minutes we must be 
out of this place.” 

A volley of rifle-shots rang out as he spoke. The German 
vanguard was attacking the French at the outposts. Grace 
caught the surgeon entreatingly by the arm. “ Take me with 
you,” she cried. “Oh, sir, I have suffered from the Germans 
already 1 Don’t forsake me, if they come back ! ” The surgeon 
was equal to the occasion ; he placed the hand of the pretty 
Englishwoman on his breast. “ Fear nothing, madam,” he said, 
looking as if he could have annihilated the whole German force 
with his own invincible arm. “ A Frenchman’s heart beats 
under your hand. A Frenchman’s devotion protects you.” 
Grace’s head sank on his shoulder. Monsieur Surville felt thaA 

• ( 


\ 


16 


THK NEW MAGDALEN. 


he had asserted himself ; he looked round invitingly at Mercy. 
She, too, was an attractive woman. The Frenchman had an- 
other shoulder at her service. Unhappily, the room was dark 
— the look was lost on Mercy. She was thinking of the help- 
less men in the inner chamber, and she quietly recalled the 
surgeon to a sense of his professional duties. 

“ What is to become of the sick and wounded!” she asked. 

Monsieur Surville shrugged one shoulder — the shoulder that 
was free. 

“ The strongest among them we can take away with us,” he 
said. “ The others must be left here. Fear nothing for your- 
self, dear lady. There will be a place for you in the baggage- 
waggon.” 

“ And for me, too !” Grace pleaded eagerly. 

The surgeon’s invincible arm stole round the young lady’s 
waist, and answered mutely with a squeeze. 

“Take her with you,” said Mercy. “My place is with the 
men whom you leave behind.” 

Grace listened in amazement. “ Think what you risk,” she 
said, “ if you stop here.” 

Mercy pointed to her left shoulder. 

“ Don’t alarm yourself on my account,” she answered j “ the 
red cross will protect me.” 

Another roll of the drum warned the susceptible surgeon to 
take his place as director-general of the ambulance, without 
any further delay. He conducted Grace to a chair, and placed 
both her hands on his heart this time, to reconcile her to the 
misfortune of his absence. “ Wait here till T return for you,” 
he whispered. “ Fear nothing, my charming friend. Say to 
yourself, “ Surville is the soul of honour ! Surville is devoted 
to me !” He struck his breast ; he again forgot the obscurity 
in the room, and cast one look of unutterable homage at his 
charming friend. A bieniotT he cried, and kissed his hand 
and disappeared. 

As the canvas screen fell over him, the sharp report of the 
rifle-firing was suddenly and grandly dominated by the roar of 
cannon. The instant after, a shell exploded in the garden out- 
side, within a few yards of the window. 

Grace sank on her knees with a shriek of terror. Mercy — 
without losing her self-possession — advanced to the window, 
and looked ouk 


THE GERMAN SflELL. 17 

“ The moon has risen,” she said. “ The Germans are shell 
ing the village.” 

Grace rose, and ran to her for protection. 

“ Take me away !” she cried. “ We shall be killed if we 
itoy here.” She stopped, looking in astonishment at the tall 
black figure of the nurse, standing immovably by the window, 

“ Are you made of iron ? ” she exclaimed. ‘‘Will nothing 
frighten you V’ 

Mercy smiled sadly. “ Why should I be afraid of losijig my 
life V she answered. “ I have nothing worth living for.” 

The roar of the cannon shook the cottage for the second time. 
A second shell exploded in the courtyard, on the opposite side 
of the building. 

Bewildered by the noise, panic-stricken as the danger from 
the shells threatened the cottage more and more nearly, Grace 
threw her arms round the nurse, and clung, in the aljject 
familiarity of terror, to the woman whose hand she had shrunk 
from touching, not five minutes since. “ Where is it safest 1” 
she cried, “ Where can I hide myself?” 

“ How can I tell where the next shell will fall ?” Mercy 
answered quietly. 

The steady composure of the one woman seemed to madden 
the other. Keleasing the nurse, Grace looked v/ildly round for 
a way of escape from the cottage. Making fii’st for the kitchen, 
she was driven back by the clamour and confusion attending the 
removal of those among the wounded who were strong enough 
to be placed in the wuiggon. A second look round showed her 
the door leading into the yard. She rushed to it, with a cry 
of relief. She had just laid her hand on the lock when the 
third report ol cannon burst over the place. 

Starting back a step, Grace lifted her hands mechanically to 
her ears. At the same moment, the third shell burst through 
the roof of the cottage, and exploded in the room, just inside 
the door. Mercy sprang forward, unhurt, from her place at 
the window. The burning fragments of the shell were already 
firing the dry vfooden floor, and in the midst of them, dimly 
seen through the smoke, lay the insensible body of her com- 
panion in the room. Even at that dreadful moment the nurse’s 
pP8Bence of mind did not fail her. Hurrying back to the place 
that she had jusi left, near which she had alie.vdy noticed the 
B 


18 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


miller’s enrptj' sacks lying in a heap, she seized two of them, 
and, throwing them on the smouldering floor, trampled out the 
fire. That done, she knelt by the senseless woman, and lifted 
her head. 

Was she wounded 1 or dead ? 

Mercy raised one helpless hand, and laid her fingers on the 
writ-t. While she was still vainly trying to feel for the beating 
of the pulse, Surgeon Surville (alarmed for the ladies) hurried 
in to inquire if any harm had been done. 

Mercy called him to ap] oach. “ I am afraid the shell has 
struck her,” she said, yielding her place to him. “ See if she 
is badly hurt 1” 

The surgeon’s anxiety for his charming patient expressed 
itself briefly in an oath, with a prodigious emphasis laid on one 
of the letters in it — the letter R. “ Take off her cloak,” he 
cried, raising his hand to her neck. “ Poor angel ! She has 
turned in falling ; the string is twisted round her tliroat.” 

Mercy removed the cloak. It dropped on the floor, as the 
surgeon lifted Grace in his arms. “ Get a candle,” he said 
impatiently ; “ they will give you one in the kitchen.” He 
tried to feel the pulse : his hand trembled, the noise and 
confusion in the kitchen bewildered him. “Just heaven !” he 
exclaimed. “ My emotions overpower me !” Mercy approached 
him with the candle. The light disclosed the frightful injury 
which a fragment of the shell had inflicted on the English- 
woman’s head. Surgeon Surville’s manner altered on the 
instant. The expression of anxiety left his face ; it’s profess- 
ional composure covered it suddenly like a mask. What was 
the object of his admiration now 1 An inert burden in his 
arms — nothing more. 

The change in his face was not lost on Mercy. Her large 
grey eyes watched him attentively. “ Is the lady seriously 
wounded ?” she asked. 

“ Don’t trouble yourself to hold the light any longer,” was 
the cool reply. “ It’s all over — I can do nothing for her.” 

“ Dead r 

Surgeon Surville nodded, and shook his fist in the direction 
of the outposts. “Accursed Germans !” he cried, and looked 
dowm at the dead face on his arm, and shrugged his shoulders 
resignedly. “ The j'ortune of war 1 ” he said, as he lifted the 


THE GERMAN SHELL. 


19 


body placed it on the bed in one corner of the room. 
“ Nexi time, nurse, it may be you or me. Who knows 1 ikh ! 
the problem of human destiny disgusts me.” He turned from 
the bed, and illustrated his disgust by spitting on the fragments 
of the exploded sliell. “We must leave her there,” he resumed. 
“ She was once a charming person — she is nothing now. Como 
away. Miss Mercy, before it is too late.” 

He offered his arm to the nurse ; the creakirg of tlie baggage- 
waggon, starting on its journey, was heard outside, and the 
shrill roll of tlie drums was renewed m the distance. The re- 
treat had begun. 

Mercy drew aside the canvas, and saw the badly- wounded 
men left helpless at the mercy of the enemy, on their straw beds. 
She refused the offer of Monsieur Surville’s arm. 

“1 have already told you that I shall stay here,” she 
answeretL 

Monsieur Surville lifted his hands in polite remonstrance. 
Mercy held back the curtain, and pointed to the cottage door. 

“ Go,” she said. “ My mind is made up.” 

Even at that final moment the Frenchman asserted himself. 
He made his exit with unimpaired grace and dignity. “Madam,” 
he said, “you are sublime!” With that parting compliment 
tlie man of gallantry — true to the last to his admiration of the 
sex — bowed, with his hand on his heart, and left the cottage. 

Mercy dropped the canvas over the doorway. She was alone 
with the dead woman. 

The last tramp of footsteps, the last rumbling of the waggon- 
wheels died away in the distance. No renewal of firing from 
the position occupied by the enemy disturbed the silence that 
followed. The Germans knew that the French were in retreat. 
A few minutes more and they would take possession of the 
abandoned village : the tumult of their approach would become 
audible at the cottage. In the meantime the stillness was 
terrible. Even the wounded wretches who were left in the 
kitchen waited their fate in silence. 

Alone in the room, Mercy’s first look was directed to the bed. 

The two women had met in the confusion of the first skir- 
mish at the close of twilight. Separated, on their arrival at 
the cottage, by the duties required of the nurse, they had only 
met again in the capLain’s luom. Th© ecqt'antance bcivveen 


\ 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 

them had been a short one ; and it had given no promise of 
riperiiii4 into friendship. But the fatal accident had roused 
Morey’s interest in the stranger. She took the candle, and 
approached the corpse of the woman who had been literally 
killed at her side. 

She stood by the bed, looking down in the silence of the 
night at the stillness of the dead face. 

It was a striking face — once seen (in life or in death) not to 
be forgotten afterwards. The forehead was unusually low and 
broad; the eyes unusually’ far apart; the mouth and chin 
remarkably small. With tender hands Mercy smoothed the 
dishevelled hair and arranged the crumpled dress. “Not five 
minutes since,” she thought to herself, “ I was longing to change 
places with you!'^ She turned from the bed with a sigh. “ 1 
wish I could change places now !” 

The silence began to oppress her. She walked slowly to the 
other end of the room. 

The cloak on the floor — her own cloak, which she had lent 
to Miss Roseberry — attracted her attention as she passed it. 
She picked it up and brushed the dust from it, and laid it 
across a chair. This done, she put the light back on the table, 
and going to the window, listened for the first sounds of the 
German advance. The faint passage of the wind through some 
trees near at hand was the only sound that caught her ears. 
She tiuned from the window, and seated herself at the table, 
thinking. Was there any duty still left undone that Christian 
charity owed to the dead? Was there any further service tint 
pressed for performance in the interval before the Germans 
appeared ? 

Mercy recalled the conversation that had passed bct'.v'een her 
ill-fated companion and herself. Miss Roseberry had spoken 
of her object in returning to England. She had mentioned a 
lady — a connection by marriage, to whom she was personally a 
stranger — wdio was waiting to receive her. Some one capable 
of stating how the poor creature had met with her death ought 
to write to her only friend. Who was to do it ? There was 
nobody to do it but the one witness of the catastrophe now left 
in the cottase — Mercy herself. 

She lifte<rthe ck;ak from the chair on which she had placed 
it, and took £roi&the pocket the leather letter-case which Grace 


THE GERMAN SHELL. 


21 


had shown to her. The only way of discovering the address 
to write to in England was to open the case and examine the 
papers inside. Mercy opened the case — and stopped, feeling a 
strange reluctance to carry the investigation any further. 

A moment’s consideration satisfied her that her scruples were 
misplaced. If she respected the case as inviolable, the Germans 
would certainly not hesitate to examine it, and the Germans 
would hardly trouble themselves to write to England. Which 
were the fittest eyes to inspect the papers of the deceased 
lady — the eyes of men and foreigners, or the eyes of her own 
countrywoman ? iMercy’s hesitation left her. She emptied the 
contents of the case on the table. 

That trilling action decided the whole future course of her life. 


22 


THE HETV ilAGDALEN. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE TEMPTATION. 

OME letters, tied together with a ribbon, attracted Mercy’s 
attention first. The ink in* which the addresses were 
written had faded* with age. The letters, directed alter- 
nately to Colonel Roseberry and to the Honourable Mrs. Rose- 
berry, contained a correspondence between the husband and 
wife at a time when the Coloners military duties had obliged 
him to be absent from home. Mercy tied the letters up again, 
and passed on to the papers that lay next in order under her 
hand. 

These consisted of a few leaves pinned together, and headed 
(in a woman’s handwriting) “ My Journal at Rome.” A brief 
examination showed that the journal had been written by Miss 
Roseberry, and that it was mainly devoted to a record of the 
last days of her father’s life. 

After replacing the journal and the correspondence in the 
case the one i)aijer left on the table was a letter. The enve- 
lope — which was unclosed — bore this address : “ Lady Janet 
Roy, Mablethorpe House, Kensington, London.” Mercy took 
the enclosure from the open envelope. The first line she read 
infurmed her that she had found the Cclonel’s letter of intro- 
ductiou, presenting his daughter to her protectress on her 
arrival in England. 

Mercy read the letter through. It was described oy the 
writer as the last effort of a dying man. Colonel Roseberiy 
wrote affectionately of his daughter’s merits, and regretfully of 
her neglected education — ascribing the latter to the pecuniary 
losses which had forced him to emigrate to Canada in the char- 
acter of a poor man. Fervent expressions of gratitude followed, 
addressed to Lady Janet. “I owe it to you,” the letter con- 
cluded, “that I am dying with my mind at ease about the 
future of my darliiig girl. To your generous protection I com- 
mit the one trcasuie 1 have ieit to me on eai'Lh. Through 


THE TEMPI' ATION. 


23 


yonr long lifetime you have nobly used your high rank and 
your great fortune as a means of doing gofxl. 1 believe it will 
not be counted among the least of your virtues hereafter, that 
you comforted the last hours of an old sohlier by opening your 
heart and your home to his friendless child.” 

So the letter ended. Mercy laid it dov/n with a heavy heart. 
What a chance the poor girl had lost ! A woman of rank and 
fortune waiting to receive her — a woman so merciful and so 
generous that the father's mind had been easy about the daugh- 
ter on his death-bed — and there the daughter lay, beyond the 
reach of Lady Janet’s kindness, beyond the need of Lady 
Janet’s help ! 

The French captain’s writing materials were left on the table. 
Mercy turned the letter over so that she might write the news 
of Miss Roseberry’s death on the blank page at the end. She 
was still considering what expression she should use, when the 
sound of complaining voices from the next room caught her 
ear. The wounded men left behind were moaning for help — 
the deserted soldiers were losing their fortitude at last. 

She entered the kitchen. A cry of delight welcomed her ap- 
pearance — the mere sight of her composed the men. From 
one straw bed to another she passed with comforting words 
that gave them hope, with skilled and tender hands that soothed 
their pain. They kissed the hem of her black dress, they called 
her their guardian angel, as the beautiful creature moved 
among them, and bent over their hard pillows her gentle com- 
passionate face. “I will be with you when the Germans 
come,” she said, as she left them to return to her unwritten 
letter. “ Courage my poor fellows 1 you are not deserted by 
your nurse.” 

‘‘Courage, madam!” the men replied; “and God bless you !” 

If the firing had been resumed at that moment — if a shell 
had struck her dead in the act of succouring the afflicted, what 
Christian judgment would have hesitated to declare that there 
was a place for this woman in heaven ? But if the war ended 
and left her still living, where was the place for her on 
earth 1 Where were her prospects ? Where was her home J 

Slie returned to the letter. Instead, however, of s<‘,ating 
herself to write, she stood by the table, absently looking down 
at the morsel of paper. 


24 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


A strange fancy had sprung to life in her mind on re-enter- 
ing the room ; she herself smiled faintly at the extravagance of 
it. What if she were to ask Lady Janet E.oy to let her supply 
Miss Roseberry’s place ? She had met with Miss Roseberry 
under critical circumstances, and she had done for her all that 
one woman could to help another. There was in this circum- 
stance some little claim to notice, perhaps, if Lady Janet had 
no other companion and reader in view. Suppose she ventured 
to plead her own cause — what would the noble and merciful 
lady do ? She would write back and say, “ Send me refer- 
ences to your character, and I will see what can be done.’* 
Her character 1 Her references 1 Mercy laughed bitterly, 
and sat down to write in the fewest words all that was needed 
from her — a plabi statement of the facts. 

No ! Not a line could she put on the paper. That fancy 
of hers was not to be dismissed at will. Her mind was per- 
versely busy now with an imaginative picture of the beauty of 
Mablethorpe House and the comfort and elegance of the life 
that was led there. Once more she thought of the chance 
which Miss Roseberry had lost. Unhappy creature! what a 
home would have been open to her if the shell had only fallen 
on the side of the window, instead of on the side of the yard ! 

Mercy pushed the letter away from her, and walked impa- 
tiently to and fro in the room. 

The perversity in her thoughts was not to be mastered in 
that way. Her mind only abandoned one useless train of re- 
flection to occupy itself with another. She was now looking by 
anticipation at her own future. What were her prospects (if 
she lived through it) when the war was over ? The experience 
of the past delineated with pitiless fidelity the dreary scene. 
Go when? she might, do what she might, it would end always 
in the same way. Curiosity and admiration excited by her 
beauty ; enquiries made about her ; the story of the past dis- 
covered ; Society charitably sorry for her ; Society generojisly 
subscribing for her ; and still, through all the years of her 
life, the same result in the end — the shadow of the old disgrace 
surrounding her as with a pestilence, isolating her among other 
women, branding her, even when she had earned her pardon 
in the sight of God, with the mark of an indelible disgrace in 
thi* sight of man : there was the prospect ! And she was only 


THE te:\iptation. 


25 


fivr-and-twenty last birthday ; she was in the prime of her 
liealtli and her strength ; she might live in the course of 
nature, fifty years more ! 

She stopped again at the bed-side ; she looked again at the 
face of the corpse. 

To what end had the shell struck the woman who had some 
hope in her life, and spared the woman who had none? The 
words she had spoken to Grace Roseberry came back to her 
as she thought of it. “ If I only had your chance! If I only 
had your reputation and your prospects I ” And there was 
the chance wasted ! There were the enviable prospects thrown 
away I It was almost maddening to contemplate that result, 
feeling her own position as she felt it. In the bitter mockery 
of despair she bent over the lifeless figure, and spoke to it as 
if it had ears to hear hei-, “ Oh I ” she said longingly, “ If 
you could be Mercy Merrick, and I could be Grace Roseberry 
now % ” 

The instant the words j)assed her li])s she started into an 
erect position. She stood by the bed, with her eyes staring 
wildly into emjity space ; with her brain in a flame \ witli her 
heart beating as if it would stitie her. “ If you could be 
Mercy Merrick, and if I could be Grace Roseberry, now ! ” In 
one breatliless moment the thought assumed a now develop- 
ment in her mind. 1 n one breathless moment the conviction 
striiek her like an electric shock. She might he Grace Jtose- 
berry if she dared ! There was absolutely nothing to stop her 
from presenting herself to Lady Janet Roy under Grace’s name 
and in Grace’s place ! 

What were the risks ! Whei’e was the weak point in the 
scheme ? 

Grace had said it herself in so many words— she and Lady 
Janet had never seen each other. Her friends were in Canada ; 
lier relations in England were dead. Mercy knew the 
place in which she had lived — the place called Port Logan — as 
well as she had known it* herself. Mercy had only to read the 
manuscript journal to be able to answer any question relating 
to the visit to Rome and to Colonel Roseberry’s death. She 
iiad no accomplished lady to personate : Grace had spoken 
herself — her father’s letter spoke also in the jdainest terms — 
of lier neglected education. Everything, literally everything, 


26 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


was in the lost woman’s favour. The ]-)eopIe with whom shffl 
had been connected in the ambulance had gone, to return no 
more. Her own clothes were on Miss Koseberry at that mo- 
ment — marked with her own name. Miss Koseberry’s clotlies., 
marked with her name, were drying, at Mercy’s disposal, in the 
next room. The way of escape from the unendurable humili- 
ation of her present life lay open before her at hast. What a 
prospect it was ! A new identity, which she might own any- 
where ! a new name, which was beyond reproach ! a new past 
life, into which ail the world might search, and be welcome ! 
Her colour rose, her eyes sparkled ; she had never been so irre- 
sistibly beautiful as she looked at the moment when the new 
future disclosed itself, radiant with new hope. 

She waited a minute, until she could look at her own daring 
project from another point of view. Where was the harm of 
it ? what did her conscience say*! 

As to Grace, in the first place. What injury was she doing 
to a woman Vvdio was dead % The question answered itsedf. 
Ho injury to the woman. No injury to her relations. Her 
relations were dead also. 

As to Lady Janet, in the second place. If she served her 
new mistress faithfully, if she filled her new sphere honour- 
af)ly, if she was cUligent under instruction and grateful for 
kindness — if, in one word, she was all that she might be and 
would be in the heavenly peace and securitj^ of that new life 
— what injury was she doing to Lady Janet % Once more the 
question answered itself. She might, and would, give Lady 
Janet cause to bless the day when she first entered the honse. 

She snatched up Colonel Eoseberry’s letter, and put it into 
the case with the other papers. The op])ortunity was before 
her ; the chances were all in her fav'our ; her conscience said 
nothing against tr\ing the daring scheme. She decided then 
and there — “ I’ll do it ! ” 

Something jarred on her finer sense, something offended her 
better nature, as she put the case into the pocket of her dress. 
She had decided, ancl yet she was not at ease ; she was not 
quite sure of having fairly questioned her conscience yvt-. 
Wliat if she laid the letter-case on the table again, and waited 
until her excitement had all cooled dmvn, and then ])iit the 
contemplated project soberly on its trial before her own sijn*e 
of right and wrong i 


THE TEMPTATION. 


27 


She thought once — and hesitated. Before she could think 
twice, the distant tramp of marching footsteps and the distant 
clatter of horses’ hoofs were wafted to her on the night air. 
The Germans were entering the village ! In a few minutes 
more they would appear in the cottage ; they would summon 
her to give an account of herself. There was no time for 
waiting until she was composed again. Which should it he— - 
the new life, as Grace Koseberry 1 or the old life, as Mei cy 
Merrick ? 

She looked for the last time at the bed. Grace’s course 
was run ; Grace’s future was at her disposal. Her resolute 
nature, forced to a choice on the instant, cliose the daring, 
alternative. She decided on taking Grace’s place. 

The tramping footsteps of the Germans came nearer and 
nearer. The voices of the officers were audible, giving the 
words of command. 

She seated herself at the table, waiting steadily for whaf 
was to come. 

The ineradicable instinct of the sex directed her eyes to hei 
dress, before the Germans appeared. Looking it over to see 
that it was in perfect order, her eyes fell upon the red cros? 
on her left shoulder. In a moment it struck her that her 
nurse’s costume might involve her in a needless risk. It asso- 
ciated her with a public position ; it might lead to inquiries at 
a later time, and those inquiries might betray her. 

She looked round. The grey cloak which she had lent to 
Grace attracted her attention. She took it up, and covered 
herself with it from head to foot. 

The cloak was just arranged round her when she heard the 
outer door thrust open, and voices speaking in a strange tongue, 
and arms ground in the room behind her. Should she wait 
to be discovered 1 or should she show herself of her own 
accord 1 It was less trying to such a nature as hers to show 
herself than to wait. She advanced to enter the kitchen. 
The canvas curtain, as she stretched out her hand to it, wa/ 
suddenly drawn back from the other side, and three men coir 
fronted her in the open doorway. 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE GERMAN SURGEON. 

S HE youngest of the three strangers — ^judging by features 
complexion, and manner — was apparently an English- 
man. He wore a military cap and military boots ; but 
was otherwise dressed as a. civilian. Next to him stood an offi- 
cer in Prussian uniform, ana next to the officei'was the third and 
the oldest of the party. He also was dressed in uniform, but his 
appearance was far from being suggestive of the appearance of a 
military man. He halted on one foot, he stooped at the shoulders, 
and instead of a sword at his side he carried a stick in his hand. 
After looking sharply through a large pair of tortoise-shell 
spectacles, first at Mercy, then at the bed, then all round the 
room, he turned with a cynical composure of manner to the 
Prussian oflicer, and broke the silence in these words : 

“ A woman ill on the bed ; another woman in attendance on 
her, and no one else in the room. Any necessity, major, tor 
setting a guard here 1 ” 

“No necessity,” answered the major. He wheeled round on 
his heel and returned to the kitchen. The German surgeon 
advanced a little, led by his professional instinct, in the di- 
rection of the bedside. The young Englishman, whose eyes 
had remained riveted in admiration on Mercy, drew the canvas 
screen over the doorway, and respectfully addressed her in the 
French language. 

“ May I ask if I am speaking to a French lady ?” he said. 

“ I am an Englishwoman,” Mercy replied. 

The surgeon heard the answer. Stopping short on his way 
to the bed, he pointed to the recumbent figure on it, and said 
to Mercy, in good English spoken with a strong German 
accent. 

“ Can I be of any use there 

His manner was ironically courteous, his harsh voice was 
pitched in one sardonic monotony of voice. Mercy took an 


THE GERMAN SURGEON. 


29 


instantaneons dislike to this hobbling ugly old man, staring at 
her rudely through his great tortoise-shell spectacles. 

“ You can he of no use, Sir,'’ she said shortly. “ The lady 
was killed when your troops shelled this cottage.” 

The Englishman started and looked compassionately towards 
the bed. The German refreshed himself with a pinch of snuff 
and put another question. 

“ Has the body been examined by a medical man 1 ” he 
asked. 

Mercy ungraciously limited her reply to the one necessary 
word “ Yes.” 

The present surgeon was not a man to be daunted by a lady’s 
disappi'oval of him. He went on with his questions. 

“ V\^ho Ifes examined the body,” he inquired next. 

Mercy answered, The doctor attached to the French ambu- 
lance.” 

The German grunted a contemptous disapproval of all French- 
men and all French institutions. The Englishman seized tiie 
first opportunity of addressing himself to Mercy once more. 

“ Is the lady a country-woman of ours 1 ” he asked, gently 

Mercy considered before she answered him. With the object 
she had in view, there might be serious reasons for speaking 
with extreme caution when she spoke of Grace. 

“ I believe so,” she said. “ We met here by accident. I 
know nothing of her.” 

“Not even her name?” inquired the German sergeon. 

Mercy’s resolution was hardly equal yet to giving her own 
name openly as the name of Grace. IShe took refuge in a Hot 
denial 

“ Not even her name.” she repeated, obstinately. 

Tne old man stared at her more rudely than ever, considered 
with himself, and took the candle from the table. He hobbled 
back to the bed, and examined the figure laid on it in silence.. 
The Englishman continued the conversation no longe" conceal- 
ing the interest that he felt in the beautiful woman who stood 
beioi'e him. 

“ I’ardon me,” he said ; you are very young to be alone in 
war-time in such a place as tliis.” 

The sudden outbreak of disturbance in the kit43h^n relie"-/Gd 
Mercy from any immediate necessity tor answering him. biie 


so 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


heard the voices of the wounded men raised in feeble remons- 
trance, and tlie harsh command of the foreign officers, bidding 
them be silent. The generous instincts of the woman instantly 
prevailed over every personal consideration imposed on her by 
the position which she had assumed. Reckless whether she be- 
trayed herself or not as nurse in the French ambulance, she in- 
stantly drew aside the canvas to enter the kitchen. A German 
sentinel barred the way to her, and announced in his own 
language that no strangers were admitted. The Englishman, 
politely interposing, asked if she had any special object in 
wishing to enter the room. 

“The poor Frenchmen !” she said, earnestly, her heart Up- 
braiding her for having forgotten them. “ The poor wounded 
Frenchmen ! 

The German surgeon advanced from the bedside, and took 
the matter up before the Englishman could say a word more. 

“ You have nothing to do with the wounded Frenchmen,” 
he croaked, in the harshest notes of his voice. “ The wounded 
Frenchmen are my business, and not yours. They are our 
prisoners, and they are being moved to our ambulance. I am 
Ignatius Wetzel, chief of the medical staff — and I tcdl you this 
— Hold your tongue.” He turned to the sentinel, and added 
in German, “ Draw the curtain again ; and if the woman per- 
sists, put her back into this room with your own hand.'’ 

Mercy attempted to remonstrate. The Englishman respect- 
fully took her arm, and drew her out of the sentinel’s reach. 

“ It is usele.ss to resist,” he said. “ The German discipline 
never gives way. There is not the least need to be uneasy about 
the Frenchmen. The ambulance under Surgeon Wetzel is ad- 
mirably administered. I can answer for it, the men will be 
we.ll treated.” He saw the tears in her eyes as he spoke ; his 
admiration for her rose higher and higher. “ Kind as well as 
beautiful,” he thought. “ What a charming creature. 

“Well !” said Ignatius Wetzel, eyeing Mercy sternly through 
his spectacles. “Are you satisfiedl And will you hold your 
tongue ? 

She yielded : it was plainly useless to persist. But for the 
Furgeon’s resistam e, hei- devotion to the wounded men might 
have stopped her on the downward way tliat she was goin^ 
If she could oiil^^ have been absorbed again, mind and body, 


THE GERMAN SURGEON. 


31 


in her work as a nurse, the temptation might even yet liave 
fniud her strong enougli to resist it. The fatal severity of the 
German discipline had snapj^ed asunder the last tie that 
I' -ur.il her to her better self, l ler face liardened as she turned 
her back proudly on Surgeon Wetzel, and took a chair. 

The Englishman followed her, and reverted to the question of 
her present situation in the cottage. 

“ Don't suppose that I want to alarm 3'‘ou,” he said. “ There 
is, I repeat, no need to be anxious about the Frenchmen, but 
there is serious reason for anxiety on your own account. The 
action will be renewed round this village by daylight ; you 
ought really to be in a place of safety. I am an officer in the 
English army — my name is Horace llohncoft. I shall be de- 
lighted to be of use to you, and I can be of use, if you will let 
me. May I ask if you are travelling ? ’’ 

Mercy gathered the cloak which concealed her nurse’s dress 
more closely round her. and coinniitted herself silently to the 
first overt act of deception. She bowed her head in the 
affirmative. 

“ Are you on your way to Endand ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“In that case I can pass you through tlie German lines, and 
foiovard you at once on your iourney.” 

iMercy looked at him in unconcealed surprise. His strongly 
felt interest in her was restrained within the strictest limits of 
•^ontl-breeding : he waas unmistakably a gentleman. Did he 
really mean what he had just said! 

“You can pass me through the German lines?” slie re- 
peated. “ You must possess extraordinary iiiiluence, Sir, to 
be able to do that.” 

iMr. Horace Holmcroft smiled. 

“ I possess the inlluence that no one can resist,” ho answered 
— the inlluence of the Press. I am serving here as war corres- 
pondent of one of our great English newspapers. If 1 ask 
liim, the commanding officer will grant you. a pass, lie is close 
to this cottage. What do you say ? ” 

irdie summoned her resolution — not without difficulty, even 
now — and took him at his v/ord. 

I grate! ally accept yaUT oner, Sir.” 
lie advanced a step tovvarcb the kitchen, and stopped. 


S2 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


‘^Ttmay be well to make the application as privately a3 
possible,” lie said. “ I shall bo ([uestioned if I pass thruu^li 
that room. Is there no otlier way out of the cottage ? ” 

Mercy showed him the door leading into the yard. He 
bowed — and left her. 

She looked furtively toward the German surgeon. Ignatius 
Wetzel was still at the bed, bending over the body, and appar- 
ently absorbed in examining the wound which had been inflicted 
by tlie sliell. Mercy’s instinctive aversion to the old man in- 
creased tenfold now that she was left alone with him. She 
withdrew uneasily to the window, and looked out at the moon- 
light. 

Had she committed herself to the fraud ? Hardly, yet. 
She had committed herself to returning to England — nothing 
more. There was no necessity, thus far, which forced hei- t(» 
present herself at Mablethorpe House, in Grace’s place. Tinn-e 
was still time to reconsider her resolution — still time to write 
the accountof the ac.ci<lent, as she had proposed, and to send 
it with the letter-case to Lady Janet Roy. Su[>pose she finaliy 
decided on taking this course, what was to become of her when 
she found herself in England again 1 There was no alternati\ e 
open but to apply once more to her friend the matron. There 
was nothing for her to do but to return to the Refuge ! 

The Refuge ! The matron ! What past association with 
these two was now presenting itself uninvited, and taking the 
foremost place in her mind ? Of whom was slie now thinking, 
in that strange place, and at tliat crisis in her life^ Of the 
man wdiose words hn<l found their way to her heart, whose in- 
fluence had stnuigthened and comforted her, in the chapel of 
the Refuge. One of th.e finest passages in his sermon had been 
especially devoted by Julian Gray to warning the congregation 
whom he addressed against the degrading influences of false- 
hood and deceit. The terms in which he had appealed to tho 
miserable women round him — terms of sympatiiy and en- 
couragement never addressed to tliem before — came back to 
Mercy Merrick as if she had heard them an hour since. She 
turned deadly pale as they now pleaded with her once more. 
“ Oh ! ” she whispered to herself, as she thought of what she 
had i)urposed and planned, “ what have I done ? what have 
I doner' 


TUii: ULIiaiAN SUllGEON. 03 

She turned from the wiiK^ow with some vague idea in Iier 
mind of followingMr. Holmcrofc and calling liiin hack. 

As she faced the bed again she also confronted Ignatius 
Wetzel. He was just stepj)ing forward to speak to her, with 
a white handkerchief — the handkerchief which she had lent to 
Grace — held up in his hand. 

“ r have found this in her pocket/’ he said. Here is her 
name written on it. She must be a countr 3 ’woman of yours.” 
He read the letters marked on the handkerchief with some 
difficulty. “ Her name is — Mercy Merrick.” 

His lips had said it — not hers ! He had given her the 
name. 

“ ‘ Mercy Merrick ’ is an English name ? ” pursued Ignatius 
Wetzel, with his eyes steadily fixed on her. “Is it not so 1 ” 

The hold on her mind of the past association with Julian 
Gray began to relax. One i)resent and pressing question now 
possessed itself of the foremost place in her thoughts. Should 
she correct the error into which the German had fallen ? The 
time had come — to speak, ana asset t her own identity; or to 
be silent, and commie herseii to the fraud. 

Horace Holmcroft entered tlie room again at the moment 
when Surgeon Wetzel’s staring eyes were still fastened on her, 
waiting for her reply. 

“ I have not overrated my interest,” he said, pointing to a 
little slip of paper in his hand, “ Here is the pass. Have 
you got pen and ink ? I must fill up the form.” 

Mercy pointed to the writing materials on the table. Hor- 
ace seated himself, and dipped the pen in the ink. 

“ Bray don’t think that 1 wish to intrude myself into your 
affairs,” he said. “ I am obligrd to ask you one or two plain 
questions. What is your name.” 

A sudden trembling seized her. She supported herself 
against the foot of the bed. Her whole future existence de- 
{jended on her answer. She was incapable of uttering a 
word. 

Ignatius Wetzel stood her friend for once. His croaking 
voice filled the empty gap in the silence exactly at the right 
time. He doggedly held .the handkerchief under her eyes. 
He obstinately repeated, “Mercy Merrick is an English name* 
is it not so ? ” 
o 


THK NEW MAGDALEN. 


Horace looked up from the table. “ Mercy Merrick 1 ” 
s.rid. “ W’lio is Mercy Merrick V' 

ourgcon W’euel pointed to the corpse on the bed. 

“ 1 have found the name on the handkerchief,” he said. 

“ This lady, it seems, had not curiosity enough to look for the 
name of her own countrywoman.” He made that mocking allu- 
sion to Mercy with a tone which was almost a tone of susjno- 
ion, and a look which was almost a look of contempt. Her 
quick temper resented the discourtesy of wliich she had been 
the object. The irritation of the moment — so often do the 
most trifling motives determine the most seiious human ac- 
tions — decided her on the course she sliould pursue. She 
turned her back scornfully on the rude old man, and left him 
in the delusion that he hail discovered the dead woman’s 
name. 

Horace returned to the business of filling up the form. 

“ Pardon me for ])re3sing the question/’ he said. “ You 
know what the German discipline is by this time. What is 
your name V’ 

She answered him recklessly, defiantly, without fairly real- 
izing what she was doing until it was done. 

“ Grace Roseberry,” she said, 

Tlie words were hardly out of her mouth before she would 
have given every thing she possessed in the world to recall 
them. 

“Miss?” asked Horace smiling. 

She could only answer him by bowing her head. 

He wrote, “ Miss Grace Roseberry” — reflected for a moment 
— and then he added, interrogatively, “Returning to her friends 
in England 1 ” Her friends in England ? Mercy’s heart swell- 
ed : she silently replied V)y another sign. He wrote the words 
after the name, and shook the sand-box over the wet ink. 
“ That will be enough,” he said, rising and presenting the pass 
to ]\Iercy; “ 1 will see you through the lines myself, and arrange 
for your being se it on by the railway. Where is your luggage ? ” 

Mercy pointe i towards the fnmt-dvior of the building. “ In 
a shed outside the cottage,” she answered. “ It is not much ; 
I can do every thing myself if the sentinel will let me pass 
■through the kitchen,” 

Horace pointed to the paper in her hand, “ You can go where 


THE (lEllMAN SURGEON. 


£5 


you like now,” he said. Shall I wait fur you here or outside ?” 

xMcTcy glanced distriisfully at Ignatius Wetzel. He was 
again al)sorbed in his endless examination of the body on the 
bed. If she left him alone with Mr. Ilolincroft, there was no 
knowing wdiat the hateful old man might not say of her. She 
answered, “ Wait for me outside, if you please.” 

'Idle sentinel drew back with military salute at the sight of 
the pass. All the French prisoners had been removed; there 
were not more than half a dozen Germans in the kitchen, and 
the greater part of them were asleep. Mercy took Grace Rose- 
berry’s clothes from the corner in which they had been left to 
dry, and made for the shed — a rough structure of wood built 
out from the cottage wall. At the front-door she encountered 
anoLiier sentinel, and showed her })ass for the second time. 
She spoke to this man, asking him if he understood French. 
Jrjtt. answered that he understood a little. Mercy gave him a 
piece of money, and said, “ I am going to pack my luggage in 
tlie shed. Be kind enough to see that no one disturbs me.” 
The sentinel saluted, in token thac he understood. Mercy dis- 
appeared in the dark interior of the shed. 

Left alone with Surgeon Wetzel, Horace noticed the strange 
old man still bending intently over the English lady who had 
been killed by the shell. 

“Any thing remarkable,” he asked, “in the manner of that 
poor creature’s death ? ” 

“ Nothing to put in a newspaper,” retorted the cynic, pur- 
suing his investigations as attentively as eve^ 

“ Interesting to a doctor — eh? ” said Horace. 

“ Yes. Interesting to a doctor,” was the gruff reply. 

Horace good-humouredly accepted the hint implied in those = 
words. He quitted the room by the door leading into the 
yard, and waited for the ch.irming Englishwoman, as i.*j had 
been instructed, outsid(*^he cottage. 

Left by himself, Ignaims Wetzel, after a first cautious look; 
•all around him, opened the u\.j.er part of Grace’s dress, and’ 
laid his lelt hand on her heart. Taking a little steel instru- 
ment from his waistcoat pocket with the other hand, he applied 
it carefully to the wound, raised a morsel of the broken and 
(ii'pressed bon<'. of the skull, and waited for the result. “ Ahal’ 
iic cried, addressing with a terrible gaiety the senseless urea-- 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


SfT 

Lure UTidor his hands. “The Frenchman says you are dead, 
my dear — does he ? The Frenchman is a quack ! Tlie French- 
man is an Ass !” He lifted his head, and called into the kitcheiL 
“Max!” A sleepy young Geiman, covered with a dresser’s 
apron from Ids chin to his feet, drew the curtain, and waited 
for his instructions. “ Bring me my black bag,” said Ignatius 
Wetzel. Having given that order, he rubbed his hands cheer- 
fully, and shook himself like a dog. “ Now I am quite happy,’* 
croaked the terrible old man, with his eyes leering sidelong at 
the bed. “ My dear dead Knglishwoman, I would not have 
missed this meeting with you for all the money I have in the 
world. Ha ! you infernal French Quack you call it death, do 
you! I call it suspended animation from pressure on the brain.” 

Max appeared with the black bag. 

Ignatius Wetzel selected two fearful instruments, bright and 
new, and hugged them to his bosom. “My little boys,” he 
said, tenderly, as if they were two children ; “ my blessed little 
])oys, come to work I” He turned t<> thp assistant. “ Do you 
remember the battle of Solferino, Ma.x -and the Austrian 
soldier 1 opperated on for a wound on the head ? ” 

The assistant’s sleepy eyes opened wide; he was evidently 
interested. “ I remember,” he said. “ I held the candle.” 

The master led the way to the bed. 

“ 1 am not satisfied with the result of that operation at Sol- 
ferino,” he said ; “ I have wanted to try again ever since. It’s 
true that I saved tiie man’s life, but I failed to give him back 
nis reason along with it. It might have been something wrong 
in the operation, or it might have been something wrong in 
the man. Whichever it was, he will live and die mad. Now 
look here, my little Max, at this dear young lady on the bed. 
She gives me just what I wanted ; here is the case at Solferino 
once more. You shall hold the candle again, my good boy ; 
.stand there, and look with all your eyes, "l am going to try if 
1 can save the life and the reason too this time.” 

He tucked up the cuffs of his coat and began the openition. 
As his fearful instrumeuts touched Grace’s head, the voice of 
ithc sentinel at the n.-ai-est outpost was heard, giving the word 
in German which perniiUed Mercy to take the first step on her 
journey to Englaml : 

“ Pass the Eiiglish lady I ” 


THE GERMAN SURGEON. S7 

The operation proceeded. The voice of the sentinel at the 
next post was heard more faintly, in its turn : 

“ Pass tl'e English lady !” 

The operation ended. Ignatius Wetzel held up hk hand fur 
silence and put his ear close to the patient’s mouth. 

The first trembling breath of returning life fluttered ovor 
Grace Koseberry’s lips, and touched the old man’s wrinkled 
clieek. “Aha!” he cried. “Good girl I you breathe — you 
live I ” As he spoke, the voice of the sentinel at the final 
limit of the German lines (barely audible in the distance) gave 
the word for the last time : 

<*Pass the English lady !” 


THE END OF THE FIRST SCENJb 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 




Second Scene — Mdblethorpe Bouse* 


PREAMBLE. 


Tlie place is England. 

Th'.; lime is winter, in the year eighteen hundred and seventy. 
Tlie persons are : Julian Gray, Horace Holmcroft, Lady Janet 
Roy, Grace Roseberry, and Mercy Merrick. 

CHAPTER VL 

LADY JANET’S COMPANION. 

<»=* 

S T is a glorious winter’s day. The sky is clear, the frost is 
hard, the ice bears for skating. 

" The dining room of the ancient mansion, called Mable- 
thorpe House, situated in the London suburb of Kensington, is 
famous among artists and other persons of taste for the carved 
v/ood-work, of Italian origin, which covers the walls on three 
sides. On the fourth side the march of modern improvement 
has broken in, and has varied and brightened tlie scene by 
means of a conservatory, forming an entrance to the room, 
through a winter garden of rare plants and flowers. On youT 
right liand, as you stand fronting the conservatory, the mono 
tony of the pannelled wall is relieved by a quaintly-patterned 
door of old inlaid wood, leading into the library, and thence, 
across the great hall, to the other reception-rooms of the house. 
A corresponding door on the left hand gives access to the bil- 
liard-room, to the smoking-room next to it, and to a smaller 
hall commanding one of the secondary entrances to the build- 
ing. On the left side also is the ample fire-place, surmounted 
by its marble mantel-piece, carved in the profusely and con- 
fusedly ornate style of eighty years since. To the educated 
eye the dining-room, with its modern furniture and conserve- 


LADY JANET'S COMPANION. 


tory, its ancient walls and doors, and its lofty mantel-pieco 
(neither very old nor very new) presents a startlin", almost a 
revolutionary, mixture of the decorative workmanship of widely- 
differing schools. To the ignorant eye the one result produced 
is an impression of perfect luxury, and comfort, united in the 
friendliest combination; and developed on the largest scale. 

The clock has just struck two. The table is spread for 
luncheon. 

The persons seated at the table are three in number. First, 
Lady Janet Roy. Second, a young lady who is her rea ler and 
companion. Third, a guest staying in the house, who has al- 
ready appeared in these pages under the name of Horace Holm- 
croft — attached to the German army as war correspondent of 
an English newspaper. 

Lady Janet Roy needs but little introduction. Everybody 
with the slightest pretension to experience in London society 
knows Lady Janet Roy. 

Who has not heard of her old lace and her priceless rubies ? 
Who has not admired her commanding figure, her beautifully- 
dressed white hair, her wonderful black eyes which still pre- 
serve their youthful brightness, after first opening on the world 
seventy years since ? Who has not felt the charm of her frank 
easily-flowing talk, her inexhaustible spirits, her good-humoured 
gracious sociability of manner ‘i Where is the modern hermit 
who is not familiarly acquainted, by hearsay at least, with the 
fantastic novelty and humour of her opinions ; with her gene- 
rous encouragement- of rising merit of any sort, in all ranks, 
high or low ; with her charities, which know no distinction 
between abroad and at home ; with her large indulgence, which 
no ingratitude can discourage and no servility pervert? Every- 
body has heard of the popular old lady — the childless widow 
of a long-forgotten lord. Everybody knows Lady Janet Roy. 

But who knows the handsome young woman sitting on her 
right hand, playing with her luncheon instead of eating it ? 
Nobody really knows her. 

She is prettily dressed in grey poplin, trimmed with grey 
velvet, and set off by a ribbon of deep red tied in a bow at the 
throat. She is nearly as tall as Lady Janet herself, and posses- 
ses a grace and beauty of figure not always seen in women who 
rise above the medium height. Judging by a certain innate 


40 


THE KEW MAUDALEN. 


grjkndeur in the carriage of her head and in tlie expressiop 
her large melancholy grey eyes, believers in blood and bree^’ng 
will be apt to guess that this is another noble lady. Alas ! she 
is nothing but Lady Janet’s companion and reader. Her head, 
crowned with its lovely light brown hair, bends with a gentle 
respect when Lady eJanet speaks. Her fine firm hand is easily 
and iiccssantly watchful to supply Lady Janet’s slightest wants. 
The Old lady — affetionately familiar with her — speaks to her as 
she migL4i speak to an adopted child. But the gratitude of the, 
the beautiful companion has always the same restraint in its 
acknowledgment of kindness ; the smile of the beautiful com- 
panion has always the same underlying sadness when it responds 
to Lady Janet’s hearty laugh. Is there something wrong here, 
under the surface 1 Is she suffering in mind, or suffering in 
body ? What is the matter with her ? 

The matter with her is secret remorse. This delicate and 
beautiful creature pines under the slow torment of constant self 
reproach. 

To the mistress of the house, and to all who inhabit it or 
enter it, she is known as Grace Eoseberry, the orphan relative 
by mahiage of Lady Janet Roy. To herself alone she is known 
as the outcast of the London streets ; the inmate of the Loudon 
Refuge ; the lost woman who has stolen her way back — after 
vainly trying to fight her way back — to Home and Name. 
There she sits in the grim shadow of her own terrible secret, 
disguised in another person’s identity, and established in another 
person’s place. Mercy Merrick had only to dare, and to be- 
come Grace Eoseberry if she pleased. She has dared, and she 
has been Grace Eoseberry for nearly four months past. 

At this moment, while Lady Janet is talking to Horace 
Holmcrofb, something that has passed between them has set 
her thinking of the day when she took the first fatal step 
which committed her to the fraud. 

How marvellously easy of accomplishment the act of persona- 
tion had been ! At first sight Lady Janet had yielded to the 
fascination of the noble and interesting face. No need to pre- 
sent the stolen letter ; no need to repeat the ready-made story. 
The old lady had put the letter aside unopened, and had stop- 
ped the story at the first words. “ Your face is your introduc- 
tion, my dear ; your father can say nothing for you which you 


LADY JANET’S COMPANION. 


41 


have not already said for yourself.” There was the welcome 
which established her firmly in her false identity at the outset. 
Thanks to lier own experience, and thanks to the “ Journal” of 
events at Rome, questions about her life in Canada, and ques- 
tions about Colonel Roseberry’s illness, found her ready with an- 
swers which (even if suspicion had existed) would have disarmed 
suspicion on the spot. While the true Grace was slowly and 
painfully winning her way back to life on her bed in a Geiman 
hospital, the false Grace was presented to Lady Janet’s friends 
as the relative by marriage of the mistress of Mablethorpe House. 
From that time forward nothing .ad happened to rouse in her the 
faintest suspicion that Grace Roseberry was other than a dead, 
and buried, woman. So far as she now knew — so far as any- 
one now knew — she might live out her life in perfect security 
(if her conscience would let her), respected, distinguished, and 
beloved, in the position which she had usurped. 

She rose abruptly from the table. The effort of her life was 
to shake herself free of the remembrances which haunted her 
perpetually as they w'ere haunting her now. Her memory was 
her worst enemy ; her one refuge from it was in change of 
occupation and change of scene. 

“ May I go into the conservatory, liady J anet V* she asked. 

“'Certainly, my dear.” 

She bent her head to her protectress — looked for a moment, 
with a steady compassionate attention, at Horace Holmcroft — 
and, slowly crossing the room, entered the winter garden. The 
eyes of Horace followed her, jis long as she was in view, with a 
curious, contradictory expression of admiration and disapproval. 
When she had pa.ssed out of sight, the admiration vanished, but 
the disapproval lemained. Tlie face of the young man con- 
tracted into a frown : he sat silent, with his fork in his hand, 
I)laying absently with the fi-agments on his i)late. 

“ Take some French pie, Horace,” said Lady Janet. 

“No, thank you.” 

‘‘ Some more chicken, then ? ” 

“ No more chicken.” 

“ Will nothing tempt you 1 ” 

“ I will take some more wine, if you will allow me.” 

He tilled his glass (for the fifth or sixth time) with claret, 
wid emptied it sullenly at a draught. Lady Janet’s bright eyes 


42 


■The new MAGDALEN. 


watched him with sardonic attention; Lady Janet’s ready 
tongue spoke out as freely as usual what was passing in her 
Blind at the time. 

“ The ail' of Kensington doesn’t seem to suit you. my young 
friend,” she said. “ The longer you have been my guest, the 
cftener you till your glass and empty your cigar-case. Those 
are bad signs in a young man. When you first came here, you 
arrived invalided by a wound. In your place, I should not 
have exposed myself to be shot, with no other object in view 
than describing a battle in a newspaper. I suppose tastes ilif- 
fer. Are you ill 'i Does your wound still plague you 1 ” 

Not in the least.” 

Are you out of spirits? 

Horace Holmcroft dropped his fork, rested his elbows on the 
table, and answered, “ Awfully.” 

Even Lady J anet’s large toleration had its limits. It em- 
braced every human offence, except a breach of good manners. 
She snatched up the nearest weapon of correction at hand — a 
table spoon — and rapped her young friend smartly with it on 
tiie arm that was nearest to her. 

“ My table is not the club table,” said the old lady. “ Hold 
up your head. Don’t look at your fork— look at me. I al- 
low nobody to be out of spiiits in My house. I consider it to 
be a reflection on Me. If cur quiert life here doesn’t suit yoil, 
f^y so plainly, and find something else to do. Tliere is employ- 
ment to be had, I suppose — if you choose to apply for it ? You 
needn’t snlile. I don’t want to see your teeth— I want an an- 
swer.” 

Horace admitted, with all needful gravity ^ that there was 
employment to be had. The war between France and Ger- 
many, he remarked, was still going on : the newspaper had 
offered to employ him again in the capacity of correspondent* 

“ Don’t speak of the newspapers and the war ! ” cried Lady 
Janet, with a sudden explosion of anger, which was genuine 
anger this time. “ I detest the newspapers I I won’t allow 
the newspapers to enter this house. I lay the whole blame of 
the blood shed between France and Germany at their door.” 

Horace’s eyes opened wide in amazement. The old lady was 
Criciently in earnest. “ What can you possibly mean ] ” bg 
Mked, ** Ajre th<i< ne’^^spapers responsible for the war ? ” 


LADY JANET’S COMPANION. 


43 


Entirely responsible,” answered Lady Janet. Why, you 
don’t iindei-stancl the age you live in ! Does anybody do anj^- 
fching nowadays (fighting included), without wishing to see it m 
the newspapers ? I subscribe to a charity ; thou art presented 
with a testimonial ; he preaches a sermon; we sutler a gi-ievaiice ; 

make a discovery ; they go to church and get married. And 
I, thou, he ; we, you, they, all want one and the same thing — 
we w\ant to see it in the papers. Are kings, soldiers, and dip- 
lomatists exceptions to the general rule of humanity ? Not 
they ! I tell you seriously, if the newspapers of Europe had one 
and all decided not to take the smallest notice in print of the 
w'ar between France and Germany, it is my firm conviction the 
war would have come to an end for want of encouragement long 
since. Let the pen cease to advertise the sword, and I, for one, 
can see the result. No report — no fighting.” 

“ Your views have the merit of perfect novelty, ma’am,” said 
Horace. “ Would you object to see them in the newspapers 1” 

Lady Janet worsted her young friend with his owm weapons. 

“Don’t I live in the latter part of the nineteenth century 
she asked. “ In the newspapers, did you say ] In large type, 
Horace, if you love me ! ” 

Horace changed the subject. 

“ You blame me for being out of spirits,” he said ; “ and you 
seem to think it is because I am tired of my pleasant life at Ma- 
blethorj'e House. I am not in the least tired, Lady Janet.” 
He looked towards the conservatory : The frown showed itself 
on his face once more. “ The truth is,” he resumed, “ I am 
not satisfied with Grace Roseberry.” 

“ What has Grace done 1 ” 

“ She persists in prolonging our engagement. Nothing will 
persuade her to fix the day for our marriage.” 

It was true ! Mercy had been mad enough to listen to him, 
and to love him. But Mercy was not vile enough to marry liira 
* under her false character and her false name. Between 
three and four months had elapsed since Horace had been 
sent home from the war, wounded, and had found the 
beautiful Englishwoman, whom he had befriended in France, 
establislied at Mablethorpe House. Invited to become 
Lady Janet’s guest (he had passed his holidays as a school- 
boy under I^ady Janet’s roof)— free to spend the idle time 


44 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


•f Ids conraleacence from morning to night in Mercy's so 
cety — the impression originally produced on him in the French 
cottage spoon strengthened into love. Before the month was 
out, Horae® had declared himself, and had discovered that he 
spoke to willing ears. From that moment it was only a ques- 
tion of persisting long enough in the resolution to gain his point. 
Tie marriage engagement was ratified — most reluctantly on the 
lady’s side-— afid there the further progress of Horace Holm- 
croft’s suit came to an end. Try as he might, he failed to per- 
suade his betrothed wife to fix the day for the marriage. There 
Were no obstacles in her way. She had no near relations of her 
own to consult. As a connection of Lady Janet’s by marriage, 
Horace’s mother and sisters were ready to receive her with all 
the honours due to a new member of the family. No pecun- 
iary considerations made it necessary, in this case, to wait for a 
favourable time. Horace was an only son ; and he had suc- 
ceeded to his father’s estate with an ample income to support it. 
On both sides alike, there was absolutely nothing to prevent 
the two young people from being married as soon as the settle- 
ments could be drawn. And yet, to all appearance, here was a 
long engagement in prospect, with no better reason than the 
lady’s incomprehensible perversity to explain the delay. 

‘‘ Can you account for Grace’s conduct ? ” asked Lady Janet. 
Her manner changed as she put the question. She looked and 
S 5 ^)oke like a person who was perplexed and annoyed. 

“ I hardly like to own it,” Horace answered, “ but I am 
afraid she has some motive for deferring our marriage, which 
slie cannot confide either to you or to me.” 

Lady Janet started. 

' “ What makes you think that ? ” she asked. 

“ I have once or twice caught her in tears. Every now and 
then — sometimes when she is talking quite gaily — she suddenly 
changes colour, and becomes silent and depressed. Just now, 
when she left the table (didn’t you notice it '?), she looked at me 
in the strangest way — almost as if she was sorry for me. What 
do these things mean 1 ” 

Horace’s reply, instead of increasing Lady Janet’s anxiety, 
seemed to relieve it. He had observed nothing which she had 
not noticed herself. You foolish boy !” she said, “ the mean- 
ing is plain enough, Grace has been out of health for some 


LADY jAi?ET*S CO:\I?ANIOX. 45 

time past. The doctor recommends change of air. I shall take 
hei away with me.” 

‘■It would be more to the purpose,” Horace rejoined, “ if / 
took her away with me. She might consent, if you would only 
use your influence. Is it asking too much to ask you to per • 
suadeher‘{ My mother and my sisters have written to her, 
and have produced no efiect. Do me the greatest of all kind* 
nesses — speak to her to-day ! ” He paused ; and, possessing him- 
self of Lady Janet’s hand, pressed it entreatingly. “ You have 
always been so good to me,” he said softly, and pressed it again. 

The old iauy looked at him. It was impossible to dispute 
that there were attractions in liorace Holmcroft’s face w’hich 
made it well worth looking at. Many a woman might have en- 
vied him his clear complexion, his bright blue eyes, and the 
warm amber tint in his light Saxon hair. Men — especially 
men skilled in uf)serving })hysiognoray — might have noticed in 
the shape of liL ibrehead, and in the line of his upper lip, the 
signs irnlicative «jI a moral nature deficient in largeness and 
Vi-eadth — of a irlna easih'’ accessible to strong prejudices, and 
oostinate in mainunning those prejudices in the face of convic- 
tion itself*. To the observation of women, these remote defects 
were too far below cue suiface to be visible. He charmed the 
sex in geneial by his rare personal advantages, and by the grace- 
ful deference of his manner. To Lady Janet, he was endeared, 
not by his own meriuts only, but by old associations that were 
ncrinccted with him. His father had been one of her many ad- 
mirers in her young days. Circumstances had partpd them. 
Hej’ marriage to another tnan had been a childless marriage. 
Tn past times, .rhen the boy Horace had come to her from 
school, she had cherished a secret fancy (too absurd to be com- 
municated to any living creature) that he ought to have been 
her son, and might have oeen her son, if she had married Ids 
fl.thor ! She smiled charmingly, old as she was — she yieldcil as 
iiis mother might liave yielded — when the young man took her 
hand, and entreated her to interest herself in his marriage. 

Must I really s^^eak to Grace?” she asked, with a gentleness 
of tone and manner far from characteristic, on ordinary occa- 
sions, of the lady of Mablethorpe House. Horace saw that he 
had gained his point. He spiaug to his feet; his eyes turned 
eagei ly in the direction of the conservatory ; his handsome^ 


Tilfc: NEW MAGDALEN. 


faco was radiant with hope. Lady Janet (with her mind full of 
his hither) stole a last look at him — sighed as she thought of 
the vanished days — and recovered herself. 

“ Go to the smoking-room,” she said, giving him a push to- 
wards the door. “ Away with you, and cultivate the favourite 
vice of the nineteenth century.” llor^ice attempted to express 
his gratitude. ‘ Go and smoke!” was all she said, })ushing 
him out. “ Go an I smoke ! ” 

Left by hei self. Lady Janet took a turn in the room, and con- 
sidered a little. 

Horace’s discontent was not unreasonable. There was really 
no excuse for the delay of which he complained. Whether 
the young lady had a special motive for hanging_back, or 
whether she was merely fretting because she did not know her 
own mind, it was, in either case, necessary to come to a distinct 
understanding, sooner or later, on the serious question of the 
marriage. The difficulty was, h®w to approach the subject with- 
out giving offence. “ I don’t understand the young women of 
the present generation,” thought Lady Janet. “In my time, 
when we were fond of a man, we were ready to marry him at a 
moment’s notice. And this is an age of progress ! They ought 
to be readier still.” 

Arriving, by her own process of induction, at this inevitable 
conclusion, she decided to try what her influence could accom- 
plish, and to trust to the inspiration of the moment for exerting 
it in the right way. “ Grace!” she called out, approaching the 
conservatory door. 

The tall lithe figure in its grey dress glided into view, and 
stood relieved against the green background of the winter- 
garden. 

“ Did your ladyship call me 1 ” 

“ Yes ; I want to speak to you. Come and sit down by me?” 

With those words. Lady Janet led the way to a sofa, and 
placed her companion by her side. 


5HE MAN IS COMING* 


cuAPTJiR m 


THE MAN IS COMING. 

'v;^OlT lo( 5 k very pale this morning, my child.** 

' Mercy sighed wearily. “ I am not well,” she aftsWel-ed 
“ xhe slightest noisus startle me. I feel tired if I 011I3 
Walk across the room.** 

Lady Janet patted her kindly on the shoulder. “ We must 
try what a change will do tor you. Which shall it bel the 
Continent, or the seaside f* 

“ Your Ladyship is too kind to ttie.** 

“ It is impossible to be too kind to you.** 

Mercy started. The colour flowed charmingly over her pale 
face. “ Oh ! ” she exclaimed impulsively. Say that again ! ’* 
“ Say it again ?** repeated Lady Janet, with a look of sur* 
prise. 

“ Yes ! Don’t think me presuming ; only think me vain. 

I can’t hear you say too often that you have learnt to like me. 
Is it rt ally a pleasure to you to have me in the house? Have 
I always behaved well since I have been with you ? ’* 

(The one excuse for the act of personation — if excuse there 
could be — lay in the affirmative answer to those questions. It 
would be something, surely, to say of the false Grace, that the 
true Grace could not have been worthier of her welcome, if the 
true Grace had been received at Mablethorpe House !) 

Lady Janet was partly touched, partly amused, by the extra- 
ordinary earnestness of the appeal that had been made to her. 

“ Have you behaved well ? ” she repeated. “ My dear, you 
talk as if you Were a child !” She laid her hand caressingly 
on Mercy’s arm, and continued, in a graver tone: ‘‘It is- 
hardly too much to say, Grace, that I bless the day when you 
first came to me. I do believe 1 could be hardly fonder of you 
if you were my own daughter.” 

Mercy suddenly turned her head aside, so as to hide her face. 
Lady Janet, still touching her arm, felt it tremble. What is* 


48 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


tlie matter with you ? ” she asked, in her abrupt, downright 
manner. 

I am only very grateful to yonr ladyship — that is all.” 

The words were spoken faintly, in broken tones. The face 
was still averted from Lady Janet’s view. “ What have I said 
to provoke this^” wondered the old lady. “Is she in the 
melting mood to-day 1 If she is, now is the time to say a 
word for Horace ! ” Keeping that excellent object in view. 
Lady Janet approached the delicate topic with all needful cau- 
tion at starting. 

“ We have got on so well together,” she resumed, “that it 
will not be easy for either of us to feel reconciled to a change 
ill our lives. At my age, it will fall hardest on me. What shall 
1 do, Grace, when the day comes for parting with my adopted 
daughter? ” 

Mercy started, and showed her face again. The traces of 
tears were in her eyes. “ Why should I leave you” she asked, 
in a tone of alarm. 

“ Surely you know ! ” exclaimed Lady Janet. 

“ Indeed I don’t. Tell me why.^’ 

“ Ask Horace to tell you.” 

The last allusion was too plain to be misunderstood. Mercy’s 
head drooped. She began to tremble again. Lady Janet 
looked at her in blank amazement. 

“ Is there anything wrong between Horace and you?” slie 
asked. 

“ No.” 

“ You know your own heart, my dear child ? You have 
surely not encouraged Horace, without loving him ? ” 

“ Oh, no!” 

“And yet ” 

For the first time in their experience of each other, Mercy 
Ventured to interupt her benefactress. “ Dear Lady Janet,” she 
interposed gently, “ I am in no hurry to be married. There 
will be plenty of time in the future to talk of that. You had 
something you wished to say to me. What is it ? ” 

It was no easy matter to disconcert Lady J anet Eoy. But that 
last question fairly reduced her to silence. After all that had 
passed, there sat her young companion, innocent of the faintest 
suspicion of the subject that u as to be discussed between tliem I 


THE MAN IS COMING. 


49 


‘'What are the young women of tlie present time made of?” 
thought the old lady, utterly at a loss to know what to say 
next. Mercy waited, on her side, with an impenetrable 
patience which only aggravated the difficulties ot tlie position 
The silence was fast threatening to bring the interview to a 
sudden and untimely end — when the door from t’le librar_y 
opened, and a man-servant, bearing a little silver salver, enteretl 
the room. 

Lady Janet’s rising sense of annoyance instantly seized on 
the servant as a victim. “ What do you want ?” she asked, 
sharply. “ I never rang for you.” 

“ A letter my lady. The messenger waits for an answer.” 

The man presented his salver, with the letter on it, and 
withdrew. 

Lady Janet recognised the hand-writing on the address with 
a look of surjirise. “ Excuse me, my dear,” she said, pausing, 
with her oldfashioned courtesy, before she opened the envelope. 
Mercy made the necessary acknowledgment, and moved away 
to the other end of the room ; little thinking that the arrival 
of the letter marked a crisis in her life. Lady Janet put on 
her spectacles. “ Odd, that he should have come back al- 
ready !” she said to herself as she threw the empty envelope on 
the table. 

The letter contained these lines; the writer of them being 
no other than the man who had preached in the chapel of the 
Refuge : — 

“Deae Aunt, 

“ I am back again in London, before my time. My friend 
the rector has shortened his holiday, and has re.sumed his duties 
in the country. I am afraid you will blame me when you hear 
of the reasons which have hastened his return. The sooner I 
make my confession, the easier I shall feel. Besides, I have a 
special object in wishing to see you as soon as possible. May I 
follow my letter to Mablethorpe House ? And may I present a 
lady to you — a perfect stranger — in whom I am interested 1 
Pray say Yes by the bearer, and oblige your affectionate 
nephew. 


O 


“Julian Gray. 


50 


OTHfi KEW MAGDALEN. 


Lady Janet referred again suspiciously to the sentence in thd 
letter which alluded to the “ lad3\” 

Julian Gray was her onl}^ surviving nephew, the son of a 
fav^’-^riie sister whom she had lost. He w^ould have held no 
very exalted position in the estimation of his aunt — who 
regarded his views in politics and religion with the strongest 
aversion — but for his marked resemblance to his mother. 
This pleaded for him with the old lady ; aided, as it was by 
the pride that she secretly felt in the early celebrity which the 
young clergyman had achieved as a writer and a preaclier, 
Thanks to tliese mitigating circumstances, and to Julian’s inex* 
haustible good humour, the aunt and the nephew generally met 
on friendly terms. Apart from what she called “his detestable 
opinions/’ Lady Janet was sufficiently interested in Julian to 
feel some curiosity about the mysterious “ lady” mentioned in 
the letter. Had he determined to settle in life 1 Was his 
choice already made ] And if so, would it prove to be a 
choice acceptable to the family? Lady Janet’s bright face 
showed signs of doubt as she asked herself that last question. 
Julian’s liberal views were capable of leading him to dangerous 
extremes. His aunt shook her head omniously as she rose 
from the sofa, and advanced to the library door. 

“Grace,” she said, pausing and turning round, “ I have a 
note to wTite to my nephew. I shall be back directly.” 

Mercy approached her. from the opposite extremity of th» 
room, with an exclamation of surprise. 

“ Your nephew 1 ” she repeated. “ Your ladyship nev r 
told me you had a nephew.” 

Lady Janet laughed. “ I must have had it on the tip of ny 
tongue to tell you, over and over again,” she said. “ Bt' ^ we 
have had so many things to talk about — and to own the truth, 
my nephew is not one of my favourite subjects of conversation. 
I don’t mean that I dislike him ; I detest his principles, my 
dear, that’s alj. However, you shall form your owm opinion of 
hitn ; he is coming to see me to-day. Wait here till I return , 
I have something more to say about Horace.” 

Mercy opened the library door for her, closed it again, and 
walked slowly to and fro alone in the room, thinking. 

Was lier mind running on Lady Janet’s ' nephew ? No. 
Lady Janet’s brief allusion to her relative had not led her into 


THE MAN IS COMING. 


51 


alluding to him by his name. JMercy M^as still as ignorant as 
ever that the preacher at the Eefuge and the iie[ilie\v of her 
benefactress were one and the same man. Hei- memory was 
busy, now, with the tri})ute which Lady Janet had paid to her 
at the outset of the interview between them : “ It is hardly 

too much to say, Grace, tliat I bless the day when vou first 
came to me.’' For the moment there was balm for her 
wounded spiiit in the remembrance of those words. Giace 
Roseberry herself could surely have eai-ned no sweeter praise 
than the praise that she had won The next instant she was 
seized with a sudden horror of her own successful fraud. The 
sense of her degradation had never been so bitterly present to 
her as at that moment. If she could only confess the truth — 
if she could innocently enjoy her harmless life at Mablethorpe 
House — what a grateful, happy woman she might be 1 Was it 
possible (if she made the confession) to trust to her own good 
conduct to pl(‘ad iier excuse ? No ! Her calmer sen.5e warned 
hei that it was lu'pele.s.s. The place she had won — honoily 
won— in Lady Jam.'t’s estimation, had been obtained by a trick. 
Nothing could alter, nothing could excuse that. She took out 
her haridk(n’chief, and dashed away the useless tears that had 
gathered in lier eyes, and tried to turn her thoughts some other 
way. What was it Lady Janet had said on going into the 
library ? She had said she was coming back to speak about 
Horace. Mercy guessed what the object was j she knew but too 
well what Horace wanted of her. How was she to meet the 
emergency I In the name of Jieaven, what was to be done % 
Could she let the man who loved her — the man whom she 
loved — drift blindfold into marriage with such a woman as she 
had been 1 No ! it was her duty to warn him. Flow I Could 
she break his heart, could she lay his life waste, by speaking 
the cruel words which 'might part them forever ? “ 1 can’t 

tell him ! 1 won’t tell him ! ” she burst out passion at idy. “ The 
disgrace of it would kill me ! ” Her varyijig mood 
changed as the words escaped her. A reckless defiance of her 
own better nature — that sadde.st of all the forms in whiclra 
woman’s misery can express itsedf — filled her heart with itc 
poisoning bitterness. She sat down again on the sofa, with 
eyes that glittered, and cheeks suffused with an angry red. 

“ I am no worse than another woman ! ” She thought. “ Another 


52 


■mE NEW MAGDALEN. 


woman might have married him for his money.” The next 
moment the miserable insiifRciency of her own excuse for 
deceiving him showed its hollowness^ self-exposed. She covered 
her face with her hands, and found refuge — where she had 
often found refuge before — in the helpless resignation of de- 
spair. “ Oh, that I had died before I entered this liouse ! Oh, 
that I could die and have done with it, at this moment!” So 
the struggle had ended with her hundreds of times already. 
So it ended now. 

The door leading into the billiard-room opened softly. 
Horace Holmcro ft had waited to hear the result of Lady Janet’s 
interference in his favour, until he could wait no longer. 

He looked in cautiously ; ready to withdraw again unnoticed, 
if the two were still talking together. The absence of Lady 
Janet suggested that the interview had come to an end. Was 
his betrothed wife waiting alone to speak to him on his return 
to the room ? He advanced a few steps. She never moved — 
she sat heedless, absorbed in her thoughts. Were they thoughts 
of hwi ? He advanced a little nearer, and called to her. 

“ Grace I ” 

She sprang to her feet, with a faint cry. ** I wish you 
wouldn’t startle me,” she said irritably, sinking back on the 
sofa. “ Any sudden alarm sets my heart beating as if it would 
choke me.” 

Horace pleaded for pardon with a lover’s humility. In her 
present state of nervous irritation, she was not to be appeased. 
She looked away from him in silence. Entirely ignorant of 
the paroxysm of mental suffering through which she had just 
passed, he seated himself by her side, and asked her gently if she 
had seen Lady Janet. She made an affirmative answer with an 
unreasonable impatience of tone and manner which would 
have warned an older and more experienced man to give her 
time before he spoke again. Horace was young, and weary of 
the suspense that he had endured in the other room. He un 
wisely pressed her with another question. 

“ Has Lady Janet said anything to you^ V' 

She turned on him angrily before he could finish the sen® 
tence. “You have tried to make her hurry me into marrying 
you,” she burst. “ I see it in your face 1” 


MAN IS COMING. 


53 


Plain as the warning was this time, Horace still failed to 
interpret it in the right way. Don’t be angry!” he said, 
good-humouredly. “Is it so very inexcusable to ask Lady 
Janet to intercede for mel I have tried to persuade you in 
vain. My mother and my sisters have pleaded for me> and 
you turn a deaf ear^ — ” 

She could endure it no longer. She stamped her foot on the 
floor with hysterical vehemence. “ I am weary of hearing of 
your mother and your sisters ! ” she broke in violently. “ You 
talk of nothing else.” 

It was just possible to make one more mistake in dealing 
with her — and Horace made it. He took offence, on his side, 
and rose from the sofa. His mother and sisters were high 
authorities in his estimation ; they variously represented his 
ideal of perfection in women. He withdrew to the opposite 
extremity of the room, and administered the severest reproof 
that he could think of on the spur of the moment. 

“ It would be well, Grace, if you followed the example set 
you by my mother and my sisters,” he said. “ They are not in 
the habit of speaking cruelly to those who love them.” 

To all appearance, the rebuke failed to produce the slightest 
effect. She seemed to be as indifferent to it as if it had not 
reached her ears. There was a spirit in her — a miserable 
spirit, born of her own bitter experience — which rose in revolt 
against Horace’s habitual glorification of the ladies of his 
family. “ It sickens me,” she thought to herself, “ to hear of 
the virtues of women who never have been tempted I Whei e 
is the merit of living reputably when your life is one course 
of prosperity and enjoyment ? Has his mother known starva- 
tion ? Have his sisters been left forsaken in the street!” It 
hardened her heart — it almost reconciled her to deceiving him 
— when he set his relatives up as patterns for her. Would he 
never understand that women detested having other women 
exhibited as examples to them ! She looked round at him with 
a sense of impatient wonder. He was sitting at the luncheon • 
table, with his back turned on her, and his head resting on his 
hand. If he had attempted to rejoin her, she would have re- 
pelled him ; if he had spoken, she would have met him with a 
sharp reply. He sat apart from her, without uttering a word. 
In a man’s hands, silence is the most terrible of all protests to 


64 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


the womfin who loves him. Violence she can endure. Words 
she is always ready to meet by words on her side. Silence 
conquers her. A tier a moment's hesitation, Mercy left the 
s.'ifa. and advanced submissively towards the table. She had 
'offended him — and she alone was in fault. How should he 
know it, poor fellow, when he innocently mortified her ? Step 
by step, she drew closer and closer. He never looked round ; 
he n<'ver moved. She laid her hand timidly on his shoulder. 
“ Forgive me, Horace,” she whispered in his ear. “ I am suffer- 
ing this morning ; I am not myself. T didn’t mean what I 
said. Pray fuigivo me.” There was no resisting the caressing 
tenderness of voice and manner which accompanied those words. 
He looked up ; he took her hand. She bent over him, and 
touched his forehead with her lips. “ Am I forgiven ? ” she 
asked. 

“Oh, my darling,” he said, “if you only knew how I loved you !” 

“ I do know it,” she answered gently, twining his hair round 
her finger, and arranging it over his forehead where his hand 
had ruffled it. 

They were completely absorbed in each other, or they must, 
at that moment, have hoard the library door open at the other 
end of the room. 

Lady Janet had written the necessary reply to her nephew, 
and had returned, faithful to her engagemei.t, to plead the 
cause of Horace. The first object that met her view was h(T 
client pleading, with conspicous success, for himself ! “ I am 

not wanted, evidently,” thought the old lady. She noiselessly 
closed the door again, and left the lovers by themselves. 

Horace returned, with unwise persistency, to the question of 
the deferred marriage. At the first words that he spoke she 
drew back directly — sadly, not angrily. 

“Don’t press me to-day,” she said; “I am not well to- 
day.” 

He rose, and looked at her anxiously. “ May I speak about 
it to-morrow 1” . 

“Yes, to-morrow.’* She returned to the sofa, and eh an ged 
the subject. “ What a time Lady Janet is away,” she said. 
What can be keeping her so long 

Horace did his best to appear interested in the quer ’•ion of 
Lady Janet’s prolonged absence, “ What made hei leave 


T^E MAN IS COMING. 65 

/OU i ” he asked, standing at the back of the sofa and leaning 
over her. 

‘‘ She went into the library to write a note to her nephew. 
By-the-by, who is her nephew % ” 

*• Is it possible you don’t know ? ” 

“ Indeed I don’t.*’ 

You have heard of him, no doubt,^’ said Horace. “ Lady 
Janet’s nephew is a celebrated man.” He paused, and stooping 
nearer to her, lifted a love-lock tliat lay over her shoulder, and 
pressed it to hia lips. “Lady Janet’s nephew/' he resumed, 
“ is Julian Gray.” 

She started off her seat, and looked round at him in blank, 
bewildered terror, as if she doubted the evidence of her own 
senses. 

Horace was completely taken by surprise. “ I\Iy dear 
Grace ! ” he exclaimed : '' what have I said or done to startle 
you this time 1 ” 

She held up her hand for silence. “ Lady Janet’s nephew 
is Julian Gray,” she repeated slowly; “and 1 only know 
it now I ” 

Horace’s perplexity increased. “ My darling, now you do 
know it, what is there to alarm you ? ” he asked. 

(There was enough to alarm the boldest woman living — in 
such a position, and with such a temperament as hers. To her 
mind the personation of Grace Roseberry had suddenly assumed 
a new aspect ; the aspect of a fatality. It had led her blind- 
fold to the house in which she and the preacher at the Refuge 
were to meet. He was coming — the man who had reached her 
inmost heart, who had influenced her whole life I Was the 
day ot reckoning coming with him 

“ Don’t notice me,” she said, faintly. * I have been ill all 
the morning. You saw it yourself when you came in here ; 
even the sound of your voice alarmed me. I shall be better 
directly. I am afraid I startled you % ” 

“ My dear Grace, it almost looked as if you were terrified 
at the sound of J ulian’s name ! He is a public celebrity, I know j 
and 1 have seen ladies start and stare at him when he entered 
a room. But you looked perfectly panic-stricken.” 

She rallied her courage by a desperate effort ; she laughed 
harsh, uneasy laugh — and stopped him by putting her 


.56 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


han«l over his month. “ Absurd ! ” she said lightly. “ As if 
IMr. Julian Gray liad anything to do with my looks! lam 
Ix't ter already. See for yourself ! ” She looked round at him 
again with a ghastly gaiety ; and returned, with a desperate 
assumption of inditf^^rence to the subject of Lady Janet’s 
nei)hew. “Of course I have heard of him,” she said. “Do 
you know that he is expected here to-day h Don’t standi 
there behind me — it’s so hard to talk to you. Come and si: 
down.” 

He obeyed — but she had not quite satisfied him yet. His 
face had not lost its expression of anxiety and surprise. She 
persisted in playing her part ; determined to set at rest in him 
any possible suspicion that she had reasons of her own for be- 
ing afraid of Julian Gray. “ Tell me about this famous man 
of yours,” she said, putting her arm familiarly through his 
arm. “ What is he like 1 ” 

The caressing action and the easy tone had their effect on 
Horace. His face began to clear ; he answered her lightly 
on his side. 

“ Prepare yourself to meet the most unclencal of clergy 
men,” he said. “ Julian is a lost sheep among the parsons, 
and a thorn in the side of his bishop. Preaches, if they ask 
him, in Dissentei Jiapels. Declines to set up any pretensions 
to i^riestly authority and priestly power. Goes about doing 
good on a plan of his own. Is quite resigned never to rise to 
the high places in his profession. Says it’s rising high enough 
for him to be the Archdeacon of the afflicted, the Dean of the 
hungry, and the Bishop of the poor. With all his oddities, 
as good a fellow as ever lived. Immensely popular with the 
women. They all go to him for advice. I wish you would 
go too.” 

Mercy changed colour. “ What do you mean % ” she asked 
sharply. 

“ Julian is famous for his powers of persuasion,” said Horace 
smiling. “ If he spoke to you, Grace, he would prevail on yoL 
to fix the day. Suppose I ask Julian to plead for me 

He made the proposal in jest. Mercy’s unquiet mind ac- 
cepted it as addressed to her in earnest. “ He will do it,” she 
thought, with a sense of indescribable terror, “ if I don’t stop 
him 1 ” There was but one chance for her. The only certain 


THE MAN IS COMING. 


57 




vray to prevent Horace from appealing to his friend, was to 
grant what Horace wished for before his friend entered the 
house. She laid her hand on his shoulder; she hid the terrible 
anxieties that were devouring her, under an assumption of 
coquetry painful and pitiable to see. 

‘‘Don’t talk nonsense! ” she said, gaily. “What were we 
saying just now — before wc began to speak of Mr. Julian 
Grayl” 

“ We were wondering what had become of Lady Janet,” 
Horace replied. 

She tapped him impatiently on the shoulder. “ No ! no I 
It was something you said before that.” 

“Her eyes completed what her words had left unsaid. 
Horace’s arm stole round her waist. 

“ I was saying that I loved you,” he answered, in a whisper. 

“ Only that 1 ” 

“Are you tired of hearing itl” 

She smiled charmingly. “ Are you so very much in earnest 

about — about 1 ” She stopped, and looked away from 

him. 

“ About our marriage ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ It is the one dearest wish oi my life. 

“ Eeally ? ” 

“ Eeally I ” 

There was a pause. Mercy’s fingers toyed nervously with 
the trinkets at her watch-chain. “ When would you like it to 
be 1 ” she said very softly, with her whole attention fixed on 
the watch-chain. 

She had never spoken, she had never looked, as she spoke 
and looked now. Horace was afraid to believe in his own 
good fortune. “ Oh, Grace 1” he exclaimed, “you are not trifl- 
ing with me ? ” 

“ What makes you think I am trifling with you ? ” 

Horace was innocent enough to answer hei* seriously. “ Yo’ ■ 
would not even let me speak of our marriage just now,” he said. 

“Never mind what I did just now,” she retorted, petulantly. 
“They say women are changeable. It is one of the defects of 
the sex.” 

“ Heaven be praised for the defects of the sex ! ” cried 


58 


THE NEW MAdDAT.Srf. 


Horace, with devout sincerity. “ Do you reaily leave me to 
decide ? ” 

“If you insist on it.’* 

“Horace considered fora moment — the subject being the 
law of marriage. “ We may be married by license in a fort- 
night,” he said. “ I fix this day fortnight.” 

She held up her hands in protest. 

“ Why not 1 My lawyer is ready. There are no prepara* 
tions to make. You said when you accepted me that it was* 
to be a private marriage.” 

Mercy w’as obliged to own tliat she had certainly said that. 

“We might be married at once — if the law would only let us. 
This day fortnight! Say — yes 1 ” He drew her closer to liiin 
There was a pause. The mask of coquetry — badly worn from 
the first — dropped from her. Her sad grey eyes rested com- 
passionately on his eager face. “ Don’t look so serious 1 ” ha 
said. “ Only one little word, Grace! Only Yes.” 

She sighed, and said it. He kissed her passionately. It waa 
only by a resolute effort that she released herself. “ Leave 
me ! ” she said, faintly. “ Pray leave me by myself ! ” 

She was in earnest — strangely in earnest. She was trembling 
from head to foot. Horace rose to leave her. “ I wall find 
Lady Janet,” he said ; “ 1 long to show the dear old lady that 
I have recovered my spirits, and to tell her wdiy.” He turned 
round at the library door. “You won’t go away ? You will 
let me see you again when you are more composed P’ 

“I will wait here,” said ^lercy. 

Satisfied with that reply, he left the room. 

Her hands dropped in her lap ; her head sank back wearily 
on the cushions at the head of the sofa. There was a dazed 
sensation in her ; her mind felt stunned. She wondered va- 
cantly whether she was awake or dreaming. Had she really 
-aid the word which pledged her to marry Horace Holmcroft 
in a fortnight? A fortnight! Sometliing might happen in 
that time to prevent it : she might find her way in a fortnight 
out of the terrible })usition in which she stood. Anyway come 
what might of it, she had chosen the preferable alternative to 
a private interview with Julian Gray. She raised herself from 
her recumbent position with a start, as the idea of the inter- 
view — dismissed for tlie last few minutes — possessed itself again 


THE MAN IS COMING. 


of her mind. Her excited imagination fignml Jul-an Gray 
as present in the room at that moment, speaking to her as 
Horace had proposed. She saw him seated close at lier side — 
this man who !i:id shaken her to the soul when lie was in the 
pulpit, and when she was listening to him (unseen) at the other 
end of the chapel — she saw him close by her, looking her 
scarchingly in the face : seeing her shameful secret in her eyes, 
hearing it in her voice; feeling it in her treml)ling hands; 
forcing it out of her word by word, till she fell prostrate at his 
feet with the confession of the fraud. Her head drop[)ed again 
on the cushions; she hid her face in horror of the scene which 
her excited fancy had conjured up. Even now, when she had 
made that dreaded interview needless, could she feel sure 
(meeting him only on the most distant terms) of not betraying 
herself 1 She could not feel suie. Something in her shud- 
dereil and shrank at the bare idea of finding herself m the 
same room with him. She felt it, she knew it: her guilty 
conscience owned and feared its master, Julian Gray ! 

The minutes passed. The violence of iiei- agitation began 
to tell physically on her weakened frame. 

She found herself crying silently without knowing why. A 
weight was on her head, a weariness was in all her limbs. She 
sank lower on the cushions — her eyes closed — the monotonous 
ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece grew drowsily fainter 
and fainter on her ear. Little by little she dropped into slum- 
ber; slumber so light that she started when a morsel of coal 
fell into the grate, or when the birds chirped and twitered 
in their aviary in the winter-garden. 

Lady Janet and Horace came in. She was faintly conscious 
of persons in the room. After an interval, she opened her eyes, 
and half rose to speak to them. The room was empty again. 
They had stolen out softly, and left her to repose. Her eyes 
closed once more. She dropped back into slumber, and from 
slumber, in the favouring warmth and quiet of the place, into 
deep and dreamless sleep. 


60 


/ 


THE NEW MAGDALEN, 


GHAPTER VIII. 


THE MAN APPEARS. 



FTER an interval of rest, Mercy was aroused by the 


shutting of a glass door at the far end of the conserva- 
tory. This door, leading into the garden, was used 
only by the inmates of the house, or by old friends privileged 
to enter the reception-rooms by that way. Assuming that either 
Horace or Lady Janet were returning to the dining-room, 
Mercy raised herself a little on the sofa and listened. 

The voice of one of the men-servants caught her ear. It 
was answered by another voice, which instantly set her trem- 
bling in every limb. 

She started up, and listened again in speechless terror. 
Yes ! there was no mistaking it. The voice that was answer- 
ing the servant was the unforgotten voice which she had heard 
at the Refuge. The visitor who had come in by the glass door 
was — Julian Gray ! 

His rapid footsteps advanced nearer and nearer to the dining- 
room. She recovered herself sufficiently to hurry to the 
library door. Her hand shook so that she failed at first to open 
it. She had just succeeded when she heard him again — speak- 
ing to her. 

‘‘ Pray don’t run away ! I am nothing very formidable. 
Only Lady Janet’s nephew— Julian Gray.” 

She turned slowly, spell-bound by his voice, and confronted 
him in silence. 

He was standing, hat in hand, at the entrance to the conserva- 
tory, dressed in black, and wearing a white cravat — but with 
a studious avoidance of anything specially clerical in the make 
and form of his clothes. Young as he was, there were marks 
of care already on his face, and the hair was prematurely tliin 
and scanty over his forehead. His slight active figure was of no 
more than the middle height His complexion was pale. The 
lower part of his face, without beard or whiskers, was in no 


THE MAN APPEARS. 


Cl 


way remarkable. An average observer would have passed him 
by without notice— but for his eyes. These alone marie a 
marked man of him. The unusual size of the orbits in which 
they were set was enough of itself to attract attention ; it gave 
a grandeur to his head, which the head, broad and firm as it 
was, did not possess. As to the eyes themselves, the soft lus- 
trous brightness of them defied analysis. No two persons 
could agree about their colour ; divided opinion declaring al- 
ternately that they were dark grey or black. Painters had 
1 l ied to reproduce them, and had given up the eflfort, in despair 
or seizing any one expression in the bewildering variety of ex 
pressions which they jiresented to view. They were eyes that 
could charm at one moment, and terrify at another ; eyes that 
could set people laughing or crying almost at will. In action 
and repose they were irresistible alike. When they first de- 
scried Mercy running to the door they brightened gaily with 
the merriment of a child. When she turned and faced him, 
they changed instantly, softening and glowing as they mutely 
owned the interest and the admiration which the first sight of 
her had aroused in him. His tone and manner altered at the 
same time. He addressed her with the greatest respect when 
he spoke his next words. 

“ Let me entreat you to favour me by resuming your seat,” 
l:e said. “ And let me ask your pardon if I have thoughtlessly 
intruded on you.” 

He paused, waiting for her reply before he advanced into 
the room. Still spell-bound by his voice, she recovered self- 
control enough to bow to him and to resume her place on the 
sofa. It was impossible to leave him now. After looking at 
her for a moment, he entered the room without speaking to her 
again. She was beginning to perplex as well as to interest 
him. “ No common sorrow,” he thought. “ has set its mark on 
that woman’s face : no common heart beats in that woman’s 
Ill-east. Who can she be ? ” 

Mercy rallied her courage, and forced herself to speak 
to him. 

“ Lady Janet is in the library, I believe,” she said, timidly. 

Shall I tell her you are here ? ” 

‘'Don’t disturb Lady Janet, and don’t disturb yourself,” 
with that answer he approached the luncheon-table, delicately 


62 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


giving her time to feel more at her ease. He took np what 
Horace had left of the bottle of claret, and poured it into a 
glass. “My aunt’s claret shall represent my aunt for the pre- 
sent,” he said, sniiliiig, as he turned towards her once more. “1 
have had a long walk, and 1 may venture to help myself in 
this house without invitation. Is it useless to otier you any- 
thing 1 ” 

Mercy made the necessary reply. She was beginning already, 
after her remarkable experience of him, to wonder at his easy 
manners and his light way of talking. 

He emptied his glass with the air of a man who thoroughly 
understood ami enjoyed good wine. “ My aunt’s claret is 
worthy of my aunt,” he said, with comic gravity, as he set 
down the glass. “Both are the genuine products of nature.’ 
He seated himself at the table, and looked critically at the dif- 
ferent dishes h‘ft on it. One dish especially attracted his at- 
tention. “ What IS this V’ he went on. “ A French pie ! I t 
seems grossly unfair to taste French wine, and to }»ass ovei 
French pie without notice.” He took up a knife and fork, and 
enjoyed the pie as critically as. he had enjoyed the wire. 
“ Worthy of the Great Nation 1” he exclaimed with enthu 
siasm. “ Five la France !” 

Mercy listened and looked, in inexpressible astonishment. 
He was utterly uixlike the picture which her fancy had draw^ 
of him in every-day liie. Take off his white cravat, and no- 
body would have discovered that this famous preacher was a 
clergyman ! 

He helped himself to another plateful of pie, a:id spoke 
more dircetly to Mercy, alternately eating and talking as com- 
posedly and pleasantly as if they had known each other for 
years. 

“ I came here by way of Kensington Gardens,” he said. 
“ For sometime past I have been living in a Hat, ugly, barren 
agricultural district. You can’t think how pleasant I found 
•.he picture presented by the Gardens, as a contrast. The la- 
dies in their rich winter dresses, the smart nursery maids, the 
lovely children, the ever-moving crowd skating on the ice of 
the Round Pond ; it was all so exhilarating after what I have 
bei'u used to that I actually caught myself whistling as I 
walked through the brilliant scene! (In my time boys used 


THE MA.N APPEARS. 


always to wuistlo wlion they wore in good spirits, and I have 
Hut got over the li.vbit yet.) Who do you think I met when I 
was in full song?” 

As well as lier amazement wouhl let her, Mercy excused her- 
self from guessing. She had never in all her life before spoken 
to any living being so confusedly and so unintelligently as she 
now spoke to J ulian Gray ! 

He went on more gndy than ever, without appearing to no- 
tice the effect that he had produced on her. 

“Whom did I meet,” he rei>eated, “ when I was in full song 1 
My bishop ! If I had been wlustling a sacred melody, his 
Lordship might perhaj)s have excused my vulgarity out of 
consideration for my music. Unfortunately, the composition I 
was executing at the moment (I am one of the loudest of liv- 
ing whistlers) was by Verdi — ^ La Donna e Mobile' — familiar, 
no doubt to his Lordship on the street organs. He recognized 
tlie tune, poor man, and when I took off my hat to him he 
looked the other way. Strange, in a world that is bursting with 
sin and sorrow, to treat such a trifle seriously as a cheerful 
clergyman whistling a tune ! ” He pushed away his plate as he 
said the last words, and went on simply and earnestly in an 
altered tone. “ I have never been able,” he said, “ to see why 
we should assert ourselves among other men as belonging to a 
particular caste, and as being forbidden, in any harmless thing, 
to do as other people do. The disciples of old set us no such 
example ; they were wiser and better than we are. I venture 
to say, that one of the worst obstacles in the way of our doing 
good among our fellow creatures is raised by the mere assump- 
tion of the clerical manner and the clerical voice. For my part, 
I set up no claim to be more sacred and more reverend than any 
other Christian man who does what good he can.” He glanced 
brightly at Mercy, looking at him in helpless perplexity. The 
spirit f fun took possession of him again. “ Are you a Rad- 
ical ? ” he asked with a humorous twinkle in his large lustrous 
eyes. “ I am ! ” 

Mercy tried hard to understand him, and tried in vain. Could 
this be the preacher whose words had charmed, juirified, en- 
nobled her ? Was this the man whose sermon had drawn 
tears from womim about her whom she knew to be shamelesss 
and hardened in crime ] Yes ! The eyes that now rested on 


G4j 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


her humorously were tlie beautitul eyes which had once looked 
into her soul. The voice that had just addressed a jesting 
question to her, was the deep and mellow voice which had once 
thrilled her to the heart. In the pulpit, he was an ipigel of 
mercy ; out of the puljiit, he was a boy let loose from school 

“ Don’t let me startle you !” he said, good naturedly notic- 
ing her confusion. “ Public opinion luis called me by harder 
names than the name of ‘ Radical’ I have been spending m^ 
time lately — as I toll you just now — in an agricultural district. 
My business there was to ])erlbr-in the duty for the rector ot 
the place, who wanted a holiday. How do you think the ex- 
periment has ended 1 Tlie Squire of the parish calls me a 
Communist ; the farmers denounce me as an Incendiary ; my 
friend the rector has been recalled in a hurry, and I have now 
the honour of sj)eaking to you in the character of a banished 
man who has made a respectable neighbourhood too hot to 
hold him.” 

With that frank avowal, he left the luncheon-table, and took 
a chair near IMercy. 

“ You will naturally be anxious,” he went on, “ to know 
what my offence was. Do you understand Political Economy 
and the Laws of Supply and Demand “I” 

Mercy owned that she di*! not understand them. 

“ No more do I — in a Christian country,” he said. “ That 
was my offence. You shall hear my confession ( just as my 
aunt will hear it ) in two word's.” lie paused for a little while 
liis variable manner changed again. Mercy, shyly looking at 
him, saw a new expression in his eyes — an expression which 
recalled her first remembrance of him as nothing had recalled 
it yet. “ I had no idea,” he resumed, “ of what the life of a 
farm-labourer really was, in somtr parts of England, until I 
undertook the rector’s duties. Never before had I seen such 
dire wretchedness as I saw in the cottages. Never before had 
I met with such noble patience under suffering as I found 
among the people. The martyrs of old could endure, and die. 
I asked myself if they could endure, and live^ like the marly i-s 
whom I saw round me 1 — live, week after week, montii after 
month, year after year, on the brink of starvation; live, and 
see their pilling cliildren growing up round them, to work and 
waul in their turn ; live, with the poor man’s parish-piison to 


THE MAN APPEARS. 


65 


look to as the end, when hunger and labour have done their 
worst ! Was God’s beautiful earth made to hold such misery 
as this ] I can hardly think of it, I can hardly speak of it, 
even now with dry eyes T’ 

His head sank on his breast. He waited — mastering his 
emotion before he spoke again. Now, at last, she knew him 
once more. Now he was the man, indeed, whom she had ex- 
pected to see. Unconsciously, she sat listening, with her eyes 
fixed on his face, with her heart hanging on his words, in the 
very attitude of the by-gone day when she had heard him for 
the first time ! 

“ I did all I could to plead for the helpless ones,” he resumed. 
“ T went round among the holders of the land to say a word 
for the tillers of the land. •* These patient people don't want 
much ’ ( I said ) ; ‘ in the name of Christ, give them enough to 
live on ! ’ Political Economy shrieked at the horrid proposal ; 
the Laws of Supply and Demand veiled their majestic faces in 
dismay. Starvation wages were the right wages, I was told. 
And why ? Because the labourer was obliged to accept them 1 
I determined, as far as one man could do it, that the labourer 
should not be obliged to accept them. I collected my own 
resources — I wrote to my friends — and I removed some of the 
poor fellows to parts of England where their work was better 
paid. Such was the conduct which made the neighbourhood 
too hot to hold me. So let it be ! T mean to go on. I am 
known in London ; I can raise subscriptions. The vile Laws 
of Supply and Demand shall find labour scarce in that agricul- 
tural district ; and pitiless Political Economy shall spend a few 
extra shillings on the poor, as certainly as I am that Padical, 
Communist, and Incendiary — Julian Gray ! ” 

He rose — making a little gesture of apology for the warmth 
with which he had spoken — and took a turn in the room. 
Fired by his enthusiasm, Mercy followed him. Her purse v/as 
in her hand, when he turned and faced her. 

“ Pray let me offer my little tribute — such as it is ! ” she 
said, eagerly. 

A momentary flush spread over his pale cheeks as he looked 
at the beautiful compassionate face pleading with him. 

“ No ! no! ” he said, smiling, “ though I am a parson, I don't 
carry the begging-box everywhere,” Mercy attempted to press 
£ 


66 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


the purse on him. Tlie quaint humour began to twinkle again 
in his eyes as he abruptly drew back from it. “ Don’t tempt 
me ! ” he said. “ The frailest of all human creatures is ^ 
clergyman tempted by a subscription.” Mercy persisted, and 
conquered ; she made him prove the truth of his own profound 
observation of clerical human nature by taking a piece of money 
from the purse. “ If I must take it — I must ! ” he remarked. 
“ Thank you for setting the good example ! thank you for 
giving the timely help ! What name shall I put down on 
my list?” 

Mercy’s eyes looked confusedly away from him. ** No name,” 
she said in a low voice. “ My subscription is anonymous ” 

As she replied, the library door opened. To her infinite 
relief — to Julian’s secret disappointment — Lady Janet Roy and 
Horace Holmcroft entered the room together. 

“ Julian ! ” exclaimed Lady Janet, holding up her hands in 
astonishment. 

He kissed his aunt on the cheek. “ Your ladyship is look- 
ing charmingly.” He gave his hand to Horace. Horace took 
it, and passed on to Mercy. They walked away together 
slowly to the other end of the room. Julian seized on the 
chance which left him free to speak privately to his aunt. 

“ I came in through the conservatory,” he said. “ And I 
found that young lady in the room. Who is she ? ” 

“ Are you very much interested in her i ” asked Lady Janet, 
in her gravely ironical way. 

Julian answered in one expressive vrord. ** Indescribably ?” 

Lady Janet called to Mercy to join her. 

“ My dear,” she said, “ let me formally present my nephew 
to you. Julian, this is Miss Grace Roseberry ” She sud- 

denly checked herself. The instant she pronounced the name, 
Julian started as if it was a surprise to him. “ What is it?” 
she asked shar})ly. 

“ Nothing,” he answered, bowing to Mercy, with a marked 
absence of his former ease of manner. She returned the 
courtesy a little restrainedly on her side. She too had seen 
him start when Lady Janet mentioned the name by which she 
was known. The start meant something. What could it be? 
Why did he turn aside, after bowing to her, and address him- 
self to Horace, with an absent look in his face, as if his 


the man appears. 


57 


thoughts were far away from his words ? A complete change 
had come over him ; and it dated from tlie moment when his 
aunt had pronounced the name that was not her name — the 
name that she had stolen ! 

^Lady Janet claimed Julian’s attention, and left Horace free 
to return to Mercy. “ Your room is ready for you,” she said. 
“ You will stay here of course Julian accepted the invitation 
— still with the air of a man whose mind was pre-occupied. In- 
stead of looking at his aunt when he made his reply, he looked 
round at Mercy, with a troubled curiosity in his face, very 
strange to see. Lady Janet tapped him impatiently on the 
shoulder. “ I expect people to look at me when people speak 
to me,” she said. “ What are you staring at my adopted 
daughter for ? ” 

“ Your adopted daughter ?” Julian repeated — looking at his 
aunt this time, and looldng very earnestly. 

“ Certainly ! As Colonel Roseberry’s daughter, she is con- 
nected with me by marriage already. Did you think I had 
picked up a foundling ? ” 

J ulian’s face cleared ; he looked relieved. I had forgotten 
the Colonel,” he answered. “ Of course the young lady is 
related to us, as you say.” 

“ Charmed, I am sure, to have satisfied you that Grace is not 
an impostor,” said Lady Janet, with satirical humility. She 
took Julian’s arm, and drew him out of hearing of Horace and 
Mercy. “ About that letter of yours ? ” she proceeded. “ There 
is one line in it that rouses my curiosity. Who is the mys- 
terious ‘ lady’ whom you wish to present to me 1 ” 

Julian started, and changed colour. 

“ I can’t tell you now,” he said, in a whisper. 

“ Why not r 

To Lady Janet’s unutterable astonishment, instead of reply- 
ing, Julian looked round at her adopted daughter once more. 

“ What has she got to do with it 1 ” asked the old lady, out 
of all patience with him. 

“ It is impossible for me to tell you,” he answered gravely 
“ while Miss Roseberry is in the rooni,’^ 


63 


THE NEW MAGDALEN 


CHAPTER IX, 


NEWS FROM MANNHEIM. 


ADY JANET’S curiosity was by this tiine thoroughly 
aroused. Summoned to explain who the nameless lady 
mentioned in his letter could possibly be, Julian had 
looked at her adopted daughter. Asked next to explain what 
her adopted daughter had got to do with it, he had declared 
that he could not answer while Miss Roseberry was in the room. 

What did he mean 1 Lady Janet determined to find out. 

“ I hate all mysteries,” she said to Julian. “ And as for se- 
crets, I consider them to be one of the forms of ill-breeding. 
People in our rank of life ought to be above whispering in cor- 
ners. If you must have your mystery, I can offer you a cor- 
ner in the library. Come with me.” 

Julian followed his aunt very reluctantly. Whatever the 
mystery might be, he was plainly embarrassed by being called 
upon to reveal it at a moment’s notice. Lady Janet settled 
herself in her chair, prepared to question and cross-question 
her nephew — when an obstacle appeared at the other end of the 
library, in the shape of a man-servant with a message. One of 
Lady J anet’s neighbours had called by appointment to take her 
to the meeting of a certain committee which assembled that day. 
The servant announced that the neighbour — an elderly lady — 
was then waiting in her carriage at the door. 

Lady Janet’s ready invention set the obstacle aside with- 
out a moment’s delay. She directed the servant to show her 
visitor into the drawing-room and to say that she was unexpect- 
edly engaged, but that Miss Roseberry would see the lady 
immediately. She then turned to Julian, and said with her 
most satirical emphasis of tone and manner, “ Would it be an 
additional convenience if Miss Roseberry was riot only out of 
the room, before you disclose your secret, but out of the house 

Julian gravely answered, “It may possibly be quite as well 
if Miss Roseberry is out of the house.” 

Lady Janet led the way back to the dining-room. 


NEWS FROM MANNHEIM. 


69 


** ^fy dear Grace,” she said, “ you looked flushed and fever- 
ish when I saw you asleep on tlie sofa a little while since. It 
will do you no harm to have a drive in the fn sh air. Our 
friend has called to take me to the committee meeting. I have 
sent to tell her that 1 am engaged — and I shall be much 
obliged if you will go in my place.” 

Mercy looked a little alarmed. “ Does your lad 3 >'ship mean 
the committee meeting of the Samaritan Convalescent Home ? 
The members, as I understand it, are to decide to-day which of 
the plans for the new building they are to adopt. I cannot 
surely presume to vote in your place ?” 

“ You can vote, my dear child, just as well as lean,” replied 
the old lady. “ Architecture is one of the lost arts. You know 
nothing about it; I know nothing about it; -the architects 
themselves know nothing about it. One plan is no doubt just 
as bad as the other. Vote, as I should vote, with the majority. 
Or as poor dear Dr. Johnson said, ‘ Shout with the loudest 
mob.’ Away with you — and d m’t keep the committee waiting.” 

Horace hastened to open the door for Mercy. 

“ How long shall you be away ? ” he whispered confidentially. 

I had a thousand things to say to you, and they have inter- 
rupted us.” 

“ I shall be back in an hour.” 

We shall have the room to ourselves by that time. Come 
here when you return. You will find me waiting for you.” 

Mercy pressed his hand significantly and went out. Lady 
Janet turned to Julian, who had thus far remained in the back 
ground, still, to all appearance, as unwilling as ever to enlighten 
his aunt. 

“ WelH” she said. “What is tying your tongue now? 
Gra(fe is out of the room ; why don’t you begin 1 Is Horace 
in the way 1 ” 

“ Not in the least. I am only a little uneasy” 

“ Uneasy about what ? ” 

“ 1 am afraid you have put that charming creature to some 
incf)nvenience in sending her away just at this time.” 

Horace looked up suddenly with a flush on his face. 

“ When you say ‘ that charming creature,’ ” he asked sharply, 
“1 snii])ose you mean IMiss Hoseberry ? ” 

“ Certainly,” answered Julian. “ Why not ? ” * 


70 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


Lady Janet interposed. “ Gently, J ulian,’’ she said. Grace 
has only been introduced to you hitherto in Uie character of 
ID y adopted daughter ” 

“ And it seems to be high time,” Horace added haughtily, 
“ that I should present her next in the character of my engage.’ 
wife.” 

Julian looked at Horace as if he could hardly credit tlie evi- 
dence of his own ears. “ Your wife ! ” he exclaimed, with an 
irrepressible outburst of disappointment and surprise. 

“ Yes. My wife,” returned Horace. “ We are to be mar- 
ried in a fortnight. May I ask,” he added, with angry hu- 
mility, “ if you disapprove of the marriage 

Lady Janet interposed once more. “ Nonsense, Horace,” 
she said, “Julian congratulates you, of course.” 

Julian coldly and absently echoed the words. “ Oh, yes ! I 
congratulate you, of course.” 

Lady Janet returned to the main object of the interview. 

“ Now we thoroughly understand one another,” she said “ let 
us speak of a lady who has dropped out of the conversation for 
the last minute or two. 1 mean, Julian, the mysterious !;nly of 
your letter. We are alone, as you desired. Lift the vail, my 
reverend nephew, which hides her from mortal eyes ! Blush, 
if you like — and can. Is she the future Mrs. Julian Gray ? ” 

“ She is a perfect stranger to me,” Julian answered, quietly. 

“ A perfect stranger ! You wrote me word you were inter- 
ested in her.” 

“ I am interested in her. And what is more, you are inter- 
ested in her, too.” 

Lady Janet’s fingers drummed impatiently on the table. 
“ Have I not warned you, Julian, that I hate mysteries 1 Will 
you, or will you not, explain yourself ? ” 

Before it was possible to answer, Horace rose from his chair, 
“ Perhaps I am in the way % ” he said. 

Julian signed to him to sit down again. 

“ I have already told Lady Janet that you are not in the 
way,” he answered, “ I now tell ycm—ns Miss Roseberry’s 
future husband — that you too have an interest in hearing what 
I have to say.” 

Horace resumed his seat with an air of suspicious surprise 
Julian addressed himself to Lady Janet. 


NEWS FROM MANNHEIM. 71 

** You have often heard me speak,” he began, of my old 
friend and schoolfellow, John Cressingham 1 ” 

“ Yes. The English consul at Mannheim?” 

‘‘ The same. Vv^hen I returned from the country I found 
among ray other letters, a long letter from the consul. I hav'e 
brought it with me, and I propose to read certain passages from 
it, which tell a very strange story more plainly and more cred- 
ibly than I can tell it in my own words.” 

‘‘ Will it be very long ? ” inquired Lady Janet, looking with 
some alarm at the closely written sheets of paper which her 
nephew spread open before him. 

Horace followed with a question on his side. 

“ You are sure I am interested in it ?” he asked. “The consul 
at Mannheim is a total stranger to me.” 

“I answer for it,” replied Julian, gravely, “neither my 
aunt’s patience nor yours, Horace, will be thrown away if you 
will favour me by listening attentively to what I am about to 
read.” 

With these words he began his first extract from the consul’s 
letter. 

* * * “ ‘ My memory is a bad one for dates. But full 

three months must have passed since information was sent to 
me of an English patient, received at the hospital here, wdiose 
case I, as English consul, might feel an interest in investigating. 

“ I went the same day to the hospital, and was taken to the 
bedside. 

“ ‘The patient Avas a woman — young, and (when in health) 
I shouhl think very pretty. When I first saw her she looked, 
to my iminstructed eye, like a dead woman. I noticed that her 
her. 1 had a bandage over it, and I asked what was the nature 
of the injury that she had received. The answer informed m.e 
that the poor creature had been present, nobody knew why or 
wherefore, at a skirmish or night attack between the Germans 
and the French, and that the injury to her head had been in- 
flicted by a fragment of a German shell.’ ” 

Horace — thus far leaning back carelessly in his chair — sud- 
denly raised himself and exclaimed, “Good heavens ! can this 
be the woman 1 saw laid out for dead in the French cot- 
tage?” 

“ It is impossible for mo to say,” replied Julian. “ Listen to 


72 THE NEW MAGDALEN. 

the rest of it. The consul’s letter may answer your question. 

He went on with his reading : 

“ ‘ The wounded woman had been reported dead, and had 
been left by the French in their retreat, at the time when the 
German forces took possession of the enemy’s position. She 
was found on a bed in a cottage by the director of the German 
ambulance ’ ” 

“ Ignatius Wetzel? ” cried Horace. 

Ignatius Wetzel,” repeated Julian, looking at the letter. 

“It is the same ! ” said Horace. “ Lady Janet, we are really 
interested in this. You remember my telling you how I first 
met with Grace ? And you have heard more about it since, no 
doubt, from Grace herself ? ” 

“ She has a horror of referring to that part of her journey 
home,” replied Lady Janet. She mentioned her having been 
stopped on the frontier, and her finding herself accidentally in 
the company of another Englishwoman, a perfect stranger to 
her. I naturally asked questions on my side, and was shocked 
to hear that she had seen the woman killed by a German shell 
almost close at her side. Neither she nor I have had any relish 
for returning to the subject sine-^ You were quite right, 
Julian, to avoid speaking of it whil*) she was in the room. I 
understand it all now. Grace, I suppose, mentioned my name 
to her fellow-traveller. The woman is, no doubt, in want of as- 
sistance, and she applies to me through you. I will help her ; 
but she must not come here until I have prepared Grace for 
seeing her again, a living woman. For the present, there is no 
reason why they should meet. ” 

“ I am not sure about that,” said Julian in low tones, with- 
out looking up at lus aunt. 

“ What do you mean ! Is the mystery not at an end yet ? ” 

** The mystery has not even begun yet. Let my friend the 
consul proceed.” 

Julian returned for the second time to his extract from the 
letter. 

“ ‘ After a careful examination of the supposed corpse, the 
German surgeon arrived at the conclusion that a case of sus- 
pended animation had (in the hurry of the French retreat) been 
mistaken for a case of death. Feeling a professional interest 
in the subject, he decided on putting his opinion to the test. 


NEWS FROM MA^^NHEIM. 


73 


He operated on the patient with complete success. After per- 
forming the operation he kept her for some days under his 
own care, and then transferred her to the nearest hospital — 
the hospital at Mannheim. He was obliged to return to his 
duties as army surgeon and he left his patient in the condition 
in which I saw her, insensible on the bed. Neither he nor 
the hosp ital authorities knew anything whatever about the 
woman. No papers were found on her. All the doctors could 
do, when I asked them for information with a view to commu- 
nicating with her friends, was to show me her linen marked 
with her name. I left the hospital after taking down the 
name in my pocket-book. It was ‘ Mercy Merrick. ’ ” 

Lady Janet produced her pocket book. “ Let me take the 
name down too,” she said. “ I never heard it before, and I 
might otherwise forget it. Go on Julian.” 

Julian advanced to his second extract from the consul’s 
letter : 

“ ‘ Under these circumstances, I could only wait to hear 
from the hospital when the patient was sufficiently recovered to 
be able to speak to me. Some weeks passed without my re- 
ceiving any communication from the doctors. On calling to 
make enquiries I was informed that fever had set in, and that 
the poor creature’s condition now alternated between exhaus- 
tion and delirium. In her delirious moments the name of your 
aunt. Lady Janet Roy, frequently escaped her. Otherwise her 
wanderings were for the most part quite unintelligible to the 
people at her bedside. I thought once or twice of writing to 
you and of begging you to speak to Lady Janet. But as the 
doctors informed me that the chances of life or death were at 
this time almost equally balanced, I decided to wait until time 
should determine whether it was necessary to trouble you or 
not.’ ” 

“ You know best, Julian,” said Lady Janet. “But I own I 
don’t quite see in what way I am interested in this part of the 
story.” 

“Just what I was going to say,” added Horace. “It is 
very sad, no doubt. But what have we to do with it 1 ” 

** Let me read my third extract,” Julian answered, “ and you 
will see.” 

He turned to the third extract, and read as follows ; 


74 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


“ ‘ At last I received a message from the hospital informing 
me that Mercy Merrick was out of danger, and that she was 
capable (though still very weak) of answering any questions 
\*’iiich I might think it desirable to put to her. On reaching 
thejiospital I was requested, rather to my &ui7)rise, to pay m3' 
first visit to the head physician in his private room. * I think 
it right,’ said this gentleman, ‘ to warn you, before 3^11 see the 
patient, to be very careful how you speak to her, and not to 
irritate her by showing any surprise or expressing any doubts 
if she talks to you in an extravagant manner. We differ in 
opinion about her here. Some of us (myself among the num- 
ber) doubt whether the recovery of her mind has accompanied 
the recovery of her bodily powers. Without pronouncing her 
to be mad — she is perfectly gentle and harmless — we are never- 
theless of the opinion that she is suffering under a species ot 
insane delusion. Bear in mind the caution wliich I have given 
you — andnowgo and judge for yourself.’ I obeyed, in some per- 
plexity and surprise. The sufferer, wdieii I approached her 
bed, looked sadly weak and worn ; but, so far as 1 could judge, 
seemed to be in full possession of herself. Her tone and man- 
ner were unquestionably the tone and manner of a lady. 
After briefly introducing myself, I assured her that I should be 
glad, both officially and personally, if I could be of any assist- 
ance to her. In saying these trifling words I happened to 
address her, by the name I had seen marked on her clothes. 
The instant the words ‘ Miss Merrick ’ passed my lips a wild 
vindictive expression appeared in her eyes. She exclaimed 
angrily, ‘ Don’t call me by that hateful name ! It’s not my 
name. All the people here persecute me by calling me Mercy 
Merrick. And when I am angry with them they show me the 
clothes. Say what I may, they persist in believing that they 
are my clothes. Don’t you do the same if you want to be friends 
with me.’ Eemembering what the physician had said to me, I 
made the necessary excuses and succeeded in soothing her. 
Without reverting to the irritating topic of the name, I nu rely 
inquired what her plans were, and assured her that she might 
command my services if she required them. ‘ Why do you 
want to know what my plans are ? ’ she asked suspiciously. 
I reminded her in reply that I held the position of English 
consul, and that my object was, if possible, to be of some as- 


NEWS FROM MANNUEIM. 


75 


sistance to her. ‘ You can be of the greatest assistance to me/ 
she said eagerly. ‘ Find Mercy Merrick ! ’ I saw the vincbc- 
tive look come back into her eyes, and an angry flush rising on 
her w hite cheeks. Abstaining from showing any surprise, I 
asked her who Mercy Merrick was 1 ‘ A vile woman by her 

own confession/ was the quick reply. ‘How am I to find her V 
I inquired next. ‘ Look for a woman in a black dress, with a 
Red Geneva Cross on her shoulder ; she is a nurse in the 
French ambulance.’ ‘ What has she done? ’ ‘ I have lost rny 

papers ; I have lost my own clothes ; Mercy Merrick has taken 
them.’ ‘ How do you icnow that Mercy Merrick has taken 
them ? ’ ‘ Nobody else could have taken them — that’s how I 
know it. Do you believe me or not 1 ’ She was beginning to 
excite herself again ; I assured her that I would at once send 
to make inquiries after Mercy Merrick. She turned round, 
contented, on the pillow. ‘There’s a good man!’ she said. 
‘ Come back and tell me when you have caught her.’ Such 
was my first interview with the English patient at the hospital 
at ]\Tannheim. It is nesdless to say that I doubted the exist- 
ence of the absent person described as a nurse. However, it was 
possible to make enquiries, by applying to the surgeon, Ignatius 
Wetzel, whose whereabouts was known to his friends in Mann- 
heim. I wrote to him, and received his answer in due time. 
Alter the night attack of the Germans had made them ijias- 
ters of the French position, he had entered the cottage occupied 
by the French ambulance. He had found the wounded French- 
men left behind, but had seen no such person in attendance on 
them as the nurse in the black dress, with the red cross on her 
shoulder. The only living woman in the place was a young 
English lady, in a grey travelling cloak, who had been stopped 
on the frontier, and who was forwarded on her way home by 
the war correspondent of an English journal 

“ That was Grace,” said Lady Janet. 

“ And I was the war correspondent,” added Horace. 

“A few words more,” said Julian, “and you will under- 
stand my object in claiming your attention.” 

He returned to the letter for the last time, and concluded his 
extracts from it as follows : 

“‘Instead of attending at the hospital myself I communi- 
cated by letter the failure of my attempt to discover the miss- 


76 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


ing nurso. For some little time afterwards I heard no mol'd 
of the sick woman whom I shall still call Mercy Merrick. It 
was only yesterday that I received another summons to visit 
the patient. She had by this time sufficiently recovered to 
claim her discharge, and she had announced her intention of 
returning forthwith to England. The head physician, feeling 
a sense of responsibility, had sent for me. It was impossible 
to detain her on the ground that she was not fit to be trusted 
by herself at large, in consequence of the difference of opinion 
among the doctors on the case. All that could be done was to 
give me due notice, and leave the matter in my hands. On 
seeing her for the second time, I found her sullen and reserved. 
She openly attributed my inabillity to find the nurse to want 
of zeal for her interests on my part. I had, on my side, no 
authority whatever to detain her. I could only inquire whether 
she had money enough to pay her travelling expenses. Her 
reply informed me that the chaplain of the hospital had men- 
tioned her forlorn situation in the town and that the English 
residents had subscribed a small sum of money to enable her to 
return to her own country. Satisfied on this head, I asked 
next if she had friends to go to in England. ‘ I have one friend,' 
she answered, ‘ who is a host in herself — Lady Janet Roy.' 
You may imagine my surprise when I heard this. I found it 
quite useless to make any further enquiries as to how she 
came to know your aunt, whether your aunt expected her, and 
so on. My questions evidently offended her , they were re- 
ceived in sulky silence. Under these circumstances, well know- 
ing that I can trust implicitly to your humane sympathy for 
misfortunes, I have decided (after careful reflection) to ensure 
the poor creature’s safety when she arrives in London by giv- 
ing her a letter to you. You will hear what she says ; and 
you will be better able to discover than I am whether she 
really has any claim on Lady Janet Roy. One last word of 
information, which it may be necessary to add, and I shall 
close this inordinately long letter. At my first interview with 
her I abstained, as I have already told you, from irritating her 
by any inquiries on the subject of her name. On this second 
occasion however, I decided on putting the question.’ ” 

As he read those last words, Julian became aware of a sud- 
den movement on the part of his aunt. Lady Janet had risen 


A 


KEWS FROM MANNHEIM. 


77 


softly from her chair and had passed behind him with the pur- 
pose of reading the consul’s letter for herself over her nephew’s 
shoulder. Julian detected the action just in time to frustrate 
Lady Janet’s intention by placing his hand over the last two 
lines of the letter. 

“ What do you do that for 1 ” inquired his aunt sharply. 

“ You are welcome, Lady Janet, to read the close of the 
letter for yourself,” Julian replied, “But before you do so I 
am anxious to prepare you for a very great surprise. Compose 
yourself, and let me read on slowly, with your eye on me, 
until I uncover the last two words which close my friend’s 
letter.” 

He read the end of the letter, as he proposed in these terms. 

“ ‘ I looked the woman straight in the face, and I said to 
her, ‘ you have denied that the name marked on the clothes 
which you wore when you came here was your name. If you 
are not Mercy Merrick, who are you ? ’ She answered in- 
stantly, My name is ’ ” 

Julian removed his hand from the page. Lady Janet looked* 
at the next two words and started back with a loud cry of as- 
tonishment, which brought Horace instantly to his feet. 

“ Tell me, one of you I” he cried. “ What name did she 
give 1 ” 

Julian told him : 

“ Grace Kosebebry. 


me iJEW MAGDALEN. 


CHAPTER X. 

A COUNCIL OF THREE. 

S OR a moment Horace stood thunderstruck, looking in 
blank astonishment at Lady Janet. His first words, as 
soon as he had recovered himself, were addressed to 

Julian : 

“ Is this a joke?” he asked sternly. **If it is, I for one 
don't see the humour of it.” 

Julian pointed to the closely written pages of the consul’s 
letter. “ A man writes in earnest,” he said, “ when he writes 
at such length as this. The woman seriously gave the name 
of Grace Roseberry, and when she left Mannheim she travelled 
to England for the express purpose of presenting herself to 
Lady Janet Roy.” He turned to his aunt. “ You saw me 
start,” he went on, “ when you first mentioned Miss Rose- 
berry’s name in my hearing. Now you know why.” Ho 
addressed himself once more to Horace. “ You heard me say 
that you, as Miss Roseberry’s future husband, had an interest 
in being present at my interview with Lady Janet. Now you 
know why.” 

“ The woman is plainly mad,” said liady Janet. “ But it is 
certainly a startling form of madness when one first hears of it 
Of course we must keep the matter, for the present at least, a 
secret from Grace.” 

“ There can be no doubt,” Horace agreed, “ that Grace must 
be kept in the dark, in her present state oi health. The ser- 
vants had better be warned beforehand, in case of this adven- 
turess or mad-woman, whichever she may be, attempting to 
make her way into the house.” 

“ It shall be done immediately,” said Lady Janet. “ What 
surprises me, Julian (ring the bell, if you please,) is, that you 
should describe yourself in your letter as feeling an interest in 
this person.” 

Julian answered — without ringing the belL 


A COUNCIL OF THREE. 


79 


T am more interested than ever,” he said, ^^noW I find that 
Miss Koseberry herself is your guest at Mablethorpe House.” 

“You were always perverse, Julian, as a child, in your 
likings and dislikings,” Lady Janet rejoined. “Why don’t 
you ring the bell 

“ For one good reason, my dear aunt. I don’t wish to hear 
you tell your servants to close the door on this friendless creature.’ 

Lady Janet cast a look at her nepliew which plainly expressed 
that she thought he had taken a liberty with her. 

“ You don’t expect me to see the woman 1 ” she asked, in a 
tone of cold surprise. 

“ I hope you will not refuse to see her,” Julian answered 
quietly. “ I was out when she called. I must hear what she 
has to say — and I should infinitely prefer hearing it in your 
presence. When I got your reply to my letter, permitting me 
to present her to you, I wrote to her immediately, appointing 
a meeting here.” 

Lady Janet lifted her bright black eyes in mute expostu- 
lation to the carved cupids and wreaths on the dining-room 
ceiling. 

' “ When am I to have the honour of the lady’s visit ? ” she 
inquired with ironical resignation. 

“ To day,” answered her nephew, with impenetrable patience. 

“ At what hour 1 ” 

Julian composedly consulted his watch. “ She is ten minutes 
after her time,” he said — and put his watch back in his pocket 
again. 

At the same moment the servant appeared, and advanced to 
Julian, carrying a visiting card on his little silver tray. 

“ A lady to see you, sir.” 

Julian took the card, and, bowing, handed it to his aunt. 

“ Here she is,” he said, just as quietly as ever. 

Lady Janet looked at the card — and tossed it indignantly 
back to her nephew. “ Miss Koseberry ! ” she exclaimed. 
“ Printed, actually printed on her card ! Julian, even MY pa- 
tience has its limits. I refuse to see Her ! ” 

The servant was still waiting — not like a human being who 
took an interest in the proceedings — but (as became a perfectly 
bred footman) like an article of furniture artfully constructed 
to come and go at the word of command. Julian gave the 


80 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


word of command, addressing the admirably constructed au- 
tomaton by the name of “James.” 

“ Where is the lady, now 'I ” he asked. 

“In the breakfast-room, sir.” 

“ Leave her there, if you please ; and wait outside within 
hearing of the bell.” 

The legs of the furniture-footman acted, and took him noise- 
lessly out of the room. 'Julian turned to his aunt. 

“ Forgive me,” he said, “ for venturing to give the mf^n his 
orders in your presence. I am very anxious that you should 
not decide hastily. Surely we ought to bear what this lady 
has to say 1 ” 

Horace dissented widely from his friend’s opinion. “It’s an 
insult to Grace,” he broke out warmly, “ to hear what she has 
to say ! ” 

Lady Janet nodded her head in high approval. “ I think so 
too,” said her ladyship, crossing her handsome old hands reso- 
lutely omher lap. 

Julian applied himself to answering Horace first 

“ Pardon me,” he said, “ I have no intention of presuming 
to reflect on Miss Koseberry, or of bringing her into the mat- 
ter at all. The consul’s letter,” he went on, speaking to his 
aunt, “ mentions, if you remember, that the medical authorities 
of IMannheim were divided in opinion on their patient’s case. 
Some of them — the physician-in chief being among the num- 
ber — believe that the recovery of her mind has not accompanied 
the recovery of her body.” 

“ In other words,” Lady Janet remarked, a mad-woman is 
in my house, and I am expected to receive her ! ” 

“ Don’t let us exaggerate,” said Julian, gently. “ It can 
serve no good interest, in this serious matter, to exaggerate 
anything. The consul assures us, on the authority of the 
doctor, that she is perfectly gentle and harmless. If she is 
really the victim of a mental delusion, the poor creature is 
surely an object of compassion, and she ought to be placed 
under proper care. Ask your own kind heart, my dear aunt, 
if it would not be downright cruelty to turn this forlorn 
woman adrift in the world, without making some inquiry first? ” 

Lady Japet’s inbred sense of justice admitted — not over wil- 
lingly — the reasonableness as well as the humanity of the view 


A COUNCIL OF THREE. 


81 


expressed in those words. ‘‘ There is some truth in that, Julian,’* 
she said, shifting her position uneasily in her chair, and look- 
ing at Horace. “ Don’t you think so too 1 ” she added. 

“ I can’t say I do,” answered Horace, in the positive tone of 
a man whose obstinacy is proof against every form of appeal 
that can he addressed to him. 

The patience of Julian was firm enough to he a match for 
the obstinacy of Horace. “ At any rate,” he resumed, with 
undiminished good temper, “ we are all three equally interested 
in setting this matter at rest. I put it to you. Lady Janet, if 
we are not favoured, at this lucky moment, with the very op- 
portunity that we want 1 Miss Roseberry is not only out of 
the room, but out of the house. If we let this chance slip, 
who can say what awkward accident may not happen in the 
course of the next few days 1 ” 

“Let the woman come in,” cried Lady Janet, deciding head- 
long with her customary impatience of all delay. “ At once, 
Julian — before Grace can come back. Will you ring the bell 
this time?” 

This time Julian rang it. “ May I give the man his orders V 
he respectfully inquired of his aunt. 

“ Give him anything you like, and have done with it!” retorted 
the irritable old lady, getting briskly on her feet, and taking a 
turn in the room to compose herself 

The servant withdrew, with orders to show the visitor in. 

Horace crossed the room at the same time — ^apparently with 
the intention of leaving it by the door at the opposite end. 

“ You are not going away ? ” exclaimed Lady Janet. 

“ I see no use in my remaining here,” said Horace, not very 
graciously. 

“ In that case,” retorted Lady Janet, “ remain here because I 
wish it.” 

“ Certainly — if you wish it. Only remember,” he added, 
more obstinately than ever, “that I differ entirely from Julian’s 
view. In my opinion the woman has no claim on us.” 

A passing movement of irritation escaped Julian for the 
first time. “ Don’t be hard, Horace,” he said, sharply. “ All 
women have a claim on us.” 

They had unconsciously gathered together, in the heat of 
the little debate, turning their backs on the library door. At 

F 


82 THE NEW MAGDALEN. 

r 

the last words of the reproof administered by Julian to Horace 
their attention was recalled to passing events by the slight 
noise produced by the opening and closing of the door. With 
one accord the three turned and looked in the direction from 
which the sounds had come. 


TSE DEAD ALIVE. 


83 


CHAPTER XL 

THE DEAD ALIVE. 

inside the door there appeared the figure of a small 
woman dressed in plain and poor black garments. She 
silently lifted her black net veil, and disclosed a dull, 
pale, worn, weary face. The forehead was low and broad ; the 
eyes were unusually far apart ; the lower features were re- 
markably small and delicate. In health (as the consul at Mann 
heim had remarked,) this woman must have possessed, if not 
absolute beauty, at least rare attractions peculiarly her own. 
As it was now, suffering — sullen, silent, self-contained suffer- 
ing — had marred its beauty. Attention and even curiosity it 
might still rouse. Admiration orinterestit could excite no longer. 

The small, thin, black figure stood immovably inside the door. 
The dull, worn, white face looked silently at the three persons 
in the room. 

The three persons in the room, on their side, stood for a 
moment without moving, and looked silently at the stranger 
on the threshold. There was something, either in the woman 
herself or in the sudden and stealthy manner of her appearance 
in the room, which froze, as if with the touch of an invisible 
cold hand, the sympathies of all three. Accustomed to the 
world, habitually at their ease in every social emergency, they 
were now silenced for the first time in their lives by the first 
serious sense of embarrassment which they had felt since they 
were children, in the presence of a stranger. 

Had the appearance of the true Grace Koseberry aroused in 
their minds a suspicion of the woman who had stolen her 
name, and taken her place in the house 1 

Not so much as the shadow of a suspicion of Mercy was at 
the bottom of the strange sense of uneasiness which had now 
deprived them alike of their habitual courtesy and their habi- 
tual presence of mind. It was as practically impossible for any 
one of three to doubt the identity of the adopted daughter of 


84 ^ 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


the house, as it would be for you who read these lines to doubt 
the identity of the nearest and dearest relative you have in the 
world. Circumstances had fortified Mercy behind the strongest 
of all natural rights — the right of first possession. Circum- 
stances had armed her with the most irresistible of all natural 
forces — the force of previous association and previous hal)it. 
Not by so much as a hair’s breadth was the position of tho 
false Grace Roscberry shaken by the first appearance of the 
true Grace Rosebeny within the doors of Mablethorpe House. 
Lady Janet felt suddenly repelled, without knowing wny. 
Julian and Horace felt suddenly repelled, without knowing 
why. Asked to describe their own sensations at the moment, 
they would have shaken their heads in despair and would have 
answered in those words. The vague presentiment of some 
misfortune to come had entered the room with the entrance of 
the woman in black. But it moved invisibly ; and it spoke, 
as all presentiments speak, in the Unknown Tongue. 

A moment passed. The crackling of the fire and the tick- 
ing of the clock were the only sounds audible in the room. 

The voice of the visitor — hard, clear, and quiet — was the 
first voice that broke the silence. 

“ Mr. Julian Gray 1 ” she said, looking interrogatively from 
one of the two gentlemen to the other. . 

Julian advanced a few steps, instantly recovering his self- 
possession. “lam sorry I was not at home,” he said, “ when 
you called with your letter from the consul. Pray take a chair.” 

By way of setting the example. Lady Janet seated herself at 
some little distance, with Horace in attendance standing near. 
She bowed to the stranger with studious politeness, but with, 
out uttering a word, before she settled herself in her chair. “ I 
am obliged to listen to this person,” thought the old lady. 
“But I am not obliged to speak to her. That is Julian’s 
business — not mine.” “Don’t stand, Horace ! You fidget me. 
Sit down.” Armed beforehand in her policy of silence. Lady 
Janet folded her handsome hands as usual, and waited for the 
proceedings to begin, like a judge on the bench. 

“Will you take a chair ?” Julian repeated, observing that 
the visitor appeared neither to'heed nor to hear his first words 
of welcome to her. 


THE DEAD ALIVE. 


85 


At this second appeal she spoke to him. <‘Is that Lady 
fanet Roy f ’ she asked, with her eyes fixed on the mistress of 
ihe house. 

Julian answered, and drew back to watch the result. 

The woman in the poor black ga^-ments changed her position 
for the first time. She moved slowly across the room to the 
place at which Lady Janet was sitting, and addressed her 
respectfully with perfect self-possession of manner. Her whole 
demeanour, from the moment when she had appeared at the 
door, had expressed — at once plainly and becomingly— confi- 
dence in the reception that awaited her. 

‘‘ Almost the last words my father said to me on his death- 
bed,” she began, were words, madam, which told me to 
expect protection and kindness from you.” 

It was not Lady Janet's business to speak. She listened 
with the blandest attention. She waited with the most exas- 
perating silence to hear more. 

Grace Roseberry drew back a step — not intimidated — only 
mortified and surprised. Was my father wrong she asked, 
with a simple dignity of tone and manner which forced Lady 
Janet to abandon her policy of silence, in spite of herself. 

“ Who was your father she asked, coldly. 

Grace Roseberry answered the question in a tone of stern 
surprise. 

“ Has the servant not given you my cardl” she said. “ Don't 
you know my name ?” 

“ Which of your names I” rejoined Lady Janet. 

“ I don’t understand your ladyship.” 

“ I will make myself understood. You asked me if I knew 
your name. I ask you, in return, which name it isl The 
name on your card is ‘ Miss Roseberry.’ The name marked on 
your clothes, when you were in the hospital, was ‘ Mercy 
Merrick.’ ” 

The self-possession which Grace had maintained from the 
moment when she had entered the dining room, seemed now 
for the first time to be on the point of failing her. She turned 
and looked appealingly at Julian, who had thus far kept his 
place apart, listening attentively. 

“ Surely,” she said, “ your friend, the consul, has told you 
in his letter about the mark on the clothes 


86 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


Something of the girlish hesitation and timidity which had 
marked her demeanour at her interview with Mercy in the 
French cottage, reappeared in her tone and manner as she 
spoke those words. The changes — mostly changes for the 
worse — wrought in her by the suffering through which she had 
passed since that time, were now ( for the moment ) effaced. 
All that was left of the better and simpler side of her charac- 
ter asserted itself in her brief ap])eal to Julian, She had 
hitherto repelled him. He began to feel a certain compassionate 
interest in her now. 

‘‘ The consul has informed me of what you said to him,” he 
answered kindly. “ But, if you will take my advice, I recom- 
mend you to tell your story to Lady Janet in your own words.” 

Grace again addressed herself with submissive reluctance to 
Lady Janet. 

“ The clothes your ladyship speaks of,” she said, “ were the 
clothes of another woman. The rain was pouring when the 
soldiers detained me on the frontier. I had been exposed for 
hours to the weather — I was wet to the skin. The clothes 
marked ‘Mercy Merrick ’ were the clothes lent to me by 
Mercy ^Merrick herself while my own things were drying. I 
was struck by the shell in those clothes. I was carried away 
insensible in those clothes after the operation had been per- 
formed on me.” 

Lady Janet listened to perfection — and did no more. She 
turned confidentially to Horace and said to him, in her grace- 
fully ironical way, “ She is ready with her explanation.” 

Horace answered in the same tone, “ A great deal too ready.” 

Grace looked from one of them to the other. A faint flush 
of colour showed itself in her face for the first time. 

“ Am I to understand ?” she asked with proud composure, 
“ that you don’t believe me ? ” 

Lady Janet maintained her policy of silence. She waved 
one hand courteously towards Julian, as if to say, “Address 
your inquiries to the gentleman who introduces you.” Julian, 
noticing the gesture and observing the rising colour in Grace’s 
cheeks, interfered directly in the interests of peace. 

“Lady Janet asked you a question just now,” ho said; 
Lady Janet inquired who your father was.” 

“ My father was the late Colonel Bose berry.” 


THE DEAD ALIVE. 


W 

La(1y J<anet looked indignantly at Horace. “Her assurance 
amazes me ! ” she exclaimed. 

J ulian interposed before his aunt could add a word more. 
“ Pray let us hear her,” he said in atone of entreaty which had 
something of the imperative in it this time. He turned to 
Grace. “ Have you any proofs to produce,” he added in a 
gentler voice, “ which will satisfy us that you are Colonel 
Eoseberry’s daughter 1 " 

Grace looked at him indignantly. “ Proof ! ” she repeated. 
“ Is my word not enough ? ” 

Julian kept his temper perfectly. “ Pardon me,” he rejoined, 
“ you forget that you and Lady Janet meet now for the first 
time. Try to put yourself in my aunt’s place. How is she to 
know that you are the late Colonel Roseberry’s daughter ? ” 

Grace’s head sank on her breast ; she dropped into the 
nearest chair. The expression of her face changed instantly 
from anger to discouragement. “ Ah,” she exclaimed bitterly, 

if I only had the letters that have been stolen from me !” 

‘‘Letters,” asked Julian, “introducing you to Lady Janet V* 

“Yes.” She turned suddenly to Lady Janet. “Let me 
tell you how I lost them,” she said, in the first tones of en- 
treaty which had escaped her yet. 

Lady Janet hesitated. It was not in her generous nature 
to resist the appeal that had just been made to her. The sym- 
pathies of Horace were far less easily reached. He lightly 
launched a new shaft of satire — intended for the private 
amusement of Lady Janet. “Another explanation!” he ex- 
claimed, with a look of comic resignation. 

Julian overheard the words. His large lustrous eyes fixed 
themselves on Horace with-a look of unmeasured contempt. 

“ The least you can do,” he said sternly, “ is not to irritate 
her. It is so easy to irritate her I” He addressed himself 
again to Grace, endeavouring to help her through her difficulty 
in a new way. “ Never mind explaining yourself for the mo- 
ment,” he said. “ In the absence of your letters, have you any 
one in London who can speak to your identity V 

Grace shook her head sadly. “ I have no friendbin London,” 
she answered. 

It was impossible for Lady Janet — who had never in her 
life heard of anybody without friends in London — to pass this 


88 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


over without notice. “No friends in London ' ” she repeated 
turning to Horace. 

Horace shot another shaft of light satire. “Of course not 
he rejoined. 

Grace saw them comparing notes. “ My friends are in 
Canada,” she broke out impetuously. “ Plenty of friends 
who could speak for me, if I could only bring them here.” 

As a place of reference — mentioned in the capital city of 
England — Canada, there is no denying it, is open to objec- 
tion on the ground of distance. Horace was ready with 
another shot. “ Far enough off, certainly,” he said. 

“ Far enough off, as you say,” Lady Janet agreed. 

Once more Julian’s inexhaustible kindness strove to obtain a 
hearing for the stranger Avho had been confided to his care. 
“A little patience. Lady Janet,” he pleaded. “ A little con> 
sideration for a friendless woman.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” said Grace. “ It it very kind of you 
to try and help me ; but it is useless. They won’t even 
listen to me.” She attempted to rise from her chair as she 
pronounced the last words. Julian gently laid his hand on her 
shoulder and obliged her to resume her seat. 

“ / will listen to you,” he said. “ You referred me just now 
to the consul’s letter. The consul tells me you suspected 
some one of taking your papers and your clothes.” 

“ I don’t suspect,” was the quick reply, “ I am certain ! I 
tell you positively Mercy Merrick was the thief. She was 
alone with me when I was struck down by the shell. She was 
the only person who knew that I had letters of introduction 
about me. She confessed to my face that she had been a bad 
woman — she had been in a prison — she had come out of a 
refuge” 

^Julian stopped her with one plain Question, which threw a 
doubt on the whole story. 

“ The consul tells me you asked him to search for Mercy 
Merrick,” he said. “ Is it not true that he caused inquiries 
to be made, and that no trace of .any such person was to be 
heard of l” 

“ The consul took no pains to find her,” Grace answered an- 
grily. “ He was, like everybody else, in a conspiracy to neglect 
and misjudge me.” 


THE DEAD ALIVE. 


89 


Lady Janet and Horace exchanged looks. This time it was 
impossible for J ulian to blame them. The farther the stranger’s 
narrative advanced, the less worthy of serious attention he felt 
it to be. The longer she spoke, the more disadvantageously she 
challenged comparison with the absent woman, whose name 
she so obstinately and so audaciously persisted in assuming as 
her own. 

“ Granting all that you have said,” J ulian resumed, with a 
last effort of patience, “ What use could Mercy Merrick make 
of your letters and your clothes V’ 

“ What use 1 ” repeated Grace, amazed at his not seeing the 
position as she saw it. “ My clothes were marked with my 
name. One of my papers was a letter from my father, intro- 
ducing me to Lady Janet. A woman out of a refuge would be 
quite capable of presenting herself here in my place.” 

Spoken entirely at random, spoken without .^o much as a 
fragment of evidence to support them, those last words still 
had their effect. They cast a reflection on Lady Janet’s 
adopted daughter which was too outrageous to be borne. 
Lady Janet rose instantly. “ Give me your arm, Horace,” she 
said, turning to leave the room. “ I have heard enough.” 

Horace respectfully offered his arm. “ Your ladyship is quite 
right,” he answered. “ A more monstrous story never was 
invented.” 

He spoke in the warmth of his indignation, loud enough for 
Grace to hear him. “What is there monstrous in it 1” she 
asked, advancing a step towards him defiantly. 

Julian checked her. He too — though he had only once seen 
^Mercy — felt an angry sense of the insult offered to the beau- 
tiful creature who had interested him at his first sight of her. 
“ Silence ! ” he said, speaking sternly to Grace for the first 
time. “You are offending — ^justly offending — Lady Janet. 
You are talking worse than absurdly — you are talking offen- 
sively — when you speak of another woman presenting herself 
here in your place.” 

Grace’s blood was up. Stung by Julian’s reproof, she turned 
on him with a look which was almost a look of fury. 

“ Are you a clergyman ? Are you an educated man T she 
asked. “ Have you never read of cases of false personation, 
in newspapers and books ? I blindly confided in Mercy Mer- 


90 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


rick before I found out what her character really^was. She left 
the cottage — I know it, from the surgeon who brought me to 
life again — firmly persuaded that the shell had killed me. 
My papers and my clothes disappeared at the same time. Is 
there nothing suspicious in these circumstances ‘I There were 
people at the hos}>ital who thought them highly suspicious — 
people who warned me that I might find an impostor in my 
place.” She suddenly paused. The rustling sound of a silk 
dress had cauglit her ear. Lady Janet was leaving the room, 
with Horace, by way of the conservatory. With a last des- 
perate effort of resolution, Grace sprang forward and placed 
herself in front of them. 

“ One word, Lady Janet, before you turn your back on me,” 
she said firmly. “One word, and I will be content. Has 
Colonel Roseberry’s letter found its way to this house or not 'i 
If it has, did a woman bring it to you ?” 

Lady Janet looke(' — as only a great lady can look, when a 
person of inferior rank has presumed to fail in respect towards 
her. 

“ You are surely not aware,” she said, with icy composure, 
“ that these questions are an insult to Me V' 

“ And worse than an insult,” Horace added warmly, “ to 
Grace !” 

The little resolute black figure (still barring the way to the 
conservatory) was- suddenly shaken from head to foot. The 
woman’s eyes travelled backwards and ft)rwards between Lady 
Janet and Horace with the light of anew suspicion in them. 

“ Grace ! ” she exclaimed. “ What Grace? That’s my name. 
Lady Janet, you have got the letter 1 The woman is here?” 

Lady Janet dropped Horace’s arm, and retraced her steps to 
the place at which her nephew was standing. 

“ Julian,” she said. “ You force me for the first time in my 
life to remind you of the respect that is due to me in my own 
house. Send that woman away.” 

Without waiting to be answered, she turned back again, and 
once more took Horace’s arm. 

“ Stand back, if you please,” she said quietly to Grace. 

Grace held her ground. 

“ The woman is here ! ” she repeated. “ Confront me with 
her — and then send me away, if you like.” 


THE DEAD ALIVE. 


91 


Julian advanced, and took her firmly hy the arm. “ You 
forget what is due to Lady Janet,” he said, drawing her aside, 
“ You forget what is due to yourself.” 

With a desperate effort, Grace broke away from him, and 
stopped Lady Janet on the threshold of the conservatory door. 

Justice ! ” she cried, shaking her clenched hand with hys- 
terical frenzy in the air. “ I claim my right to meet that 
woman face to face ! Where is she ? Confront me with her ! 
Confront me with her !” 

While those wild words were pouring from her lips, the 
rumbling of carriage wheels became audible on the drive in 
front of the house. In the all-absorbing agitation of the mo- 
ment, the sound of the wheels ( followed by the opening of the 
house door ) pg,ssed unnoticed by the persons in the dining- 
room. Horace's voice was still raised in angry protest against 
the insult offered to Lady Janet ; Lady Janet herself ( leaving 
him for the second time ) was vehemently ringing the bell to 
summon the servants ; Julian had once more taken the in- 
furiated woman by the arm, and was trying vainly to compose 
her — when the library door was opened quietly by a young 
lady wearing a mantle and a bonnet. Mercy Merrick ( true to 
the appointment which she had made with Horace), entered 
the room. 

The first eyes that discovered her presence on the scene were 
the eyes of Grace Hoseberry. Starting violently in Julian’s 
grasp, she pointed towards the library door. “Ah!” she cried, 
with a shriek of vindictive delight, “ There she is !” 

Mercy turned as the sound of the scream rang through the 
room, and met — resting on her in savage triumph — the living 
gaze of the woman whose identity she had stolen, whose body 
she had left laid out for dead. On the instant of that terrible 
discovery — with her eyes fixed helplessly on the fierce eyes that 
Lad found her — she dropped senseless on the floor. 


92 


THE NEW 1\IAGDALEN. 


CHAPTER XII, 


Exit Julian. 


^ULIA 

was 


N happened to be standing nearest to Mercy. He 
the first at her side when she fell. 


In the cry of alarm which burst from him, as he raised 
her for a moment in his arms, and the expression of his eyes when 
he looked at her death-like face, there escaped the plain — too 
plain — confession of the interest which he felt in her, of 
the admiration which she had aroused in him. Horace 
detected it. There was the quick suspicion of jealousy in 
the movement by wliich ho joined Julian ; there was the 
ready resentment of jealousy in the tone in which he pronoun- 
ced the woids, “Leave her to me.” Julian resigned her in 
silence. A faint flush appeared on his pale face as he drew back 
while Horace carried her to the sofa. His eyes sank to the 
ground ; he seemed to be meditating self-reproachfully on the 
tone in which his friend had spoken to him. After having been 
the first to take an active })art in meeting the calamity that had 
happened, he was now to all appearance insensible to everything 
that was passing in the room. 

A touch on his shoulder roused him. 

He turned and looked round. The woman who had done the 
mischief — the stranger in the poor black garments — was stand- 
ing behind him. She pointed to the prostrate figure on the 
sofa, with a merciless smile. 

“ You wanted a proof just now,” she said. “There it is!” 

Horace heard her. lie suddenly left the sofa and joined 
J ulian. Ilis face, naturally ruddy, was pale with suppressed 
fury. 

“ Take that wretch away 1 ” he said. “ Instantly ! or I won’t 
answer for what I may do.” 

These words recalled Julian to himself.' He looked round 
the room. Lady Janet and the housekeeper were together, in 
attendance on the swooning woman. The startled servants 


JULIAN. 


93 


were congregated in the library doorway. One of them offered 
to run to the nearest doctor ; another asked if he should fetch 
the police. J ulian silenced them by a gesture, and turned to 
Horace. “ Compose yourself,” he said. “ Leave me to remove 
her quietly from the house. He took Grace by the hand as he 
spoke. She hesitated and tried to release herself. Julian 
pointed to the group at the sofa and to the servants looking on. 
‘‘ You have made an enemy of every one in this room,” he said, 
and you have not a friend in London. Do you wish to make 
an enemy of me f ’ Her head drooped : she made no reply ; 
she waited, dumbly obedient to the firmer will than her own. 
Julian ordered the servants crowding together in the doorway 
to withdraw. He followed them into the library, leading Gr.tce 
after him by the hand. Before closing the door he paused, and 
looked back into the dining-room. 

“ Is she recovering 1” he asked, after a moment’s hesitation. 

Lady Janet’s voice answered him, “ Not yet.” 

“ Shall I send for the nearest doctor ? ” 

Horace interposed. He declined to let Julian associate him- 
self, even in that indirect manner, with Mercy’s recovery. 

“ If the doctor is wanted,” he said, “ I will go for him my- 
self.” 

Julian closed the library door. He absently released Grace ; 
he mechanically pointed to a chair. She sat down in silent sur- 
prise, following him with her eyes as he walked slowly to and 
fro in the room. 

For the moment his mind was far away from her, and from 
all that had happened since her appearance in the house. It 
was impossible that a man of his fineness of perception could 
mistake the meaning of Horace’s conduct towards him. He 
was questioning his own heart, on the subject of Mercy, sternly 
and unreservedly as it was his habit to do. ‘‘ After only once 
seeing her,” he thought, “ has she produced such an impression 
on me that Horace can discover it, before I have even suspected 
it myself ? Can the time have come already, when I owe it to 
my friend to see her no moreL’ He stopped irritably in his 
walk. As a man devoted to a serious calling in life, there was 
something that wounded liis self-respect in the bare suspicion 
that he could be guilty of the purely sentimental extravagance 
called “ love at first sight.” 


94 


THE NEW MAGD:iLEN. 


He had paused exactly opposite to the chair in which Gnwe 
was seated. Weary of the silence, she seized the opportunity 
of speaking to him. 

“ I have come here with you as you wished,” she said. 
“ Are you going to help me 1 Am I to count on you as my 
friend % ” 

He looked at her vacantly. It cost him an effort before he 
could give her the attention that she had claimed. 

“ You have been hard on me,” Grace went on. “ But you 
sliowed me some kindness at first ; you tried to make them 
give me a fair hearing. I ask you, as a just man, do you doubt 
now that the woman on the sofa in the next room is an ini})os- 
tor who has taken my place 1 Can tliere be any plainer confes- 
sion that she is Mercy Merrick than the confession she has 
made 1 You saw it ; they saw it. She fainted at the sight of 
me.” 

. Julian crossed the room — still without answering her — and 
rang the bell. When the servant appeared, he told the man to 
fgtch a cab. 

Grace rose from her chair. What is the cab for 1 ” she 
asked sharply. 

For you and for me,” Julian replied. “ I am going to take 
you back to your lodgings.” 

I refuse to go. My place is in this house. Neither Lady 
Janet nor you can get over the plain facts. All I asked was to 
be confronted with her. And what did she do when she came 
into the room 1 She fainted at the sight of me.” 

Beiterating her one triumphant assertion, she fixed her eyes 
on J ulian with a look which said plainly. Answer th it if you 
can. In mercy to her, J ulian answered it on the spot. 

So far as I understand,” he said, “ you appear to take it 
for granted that no innocent woman would have fainted on first 
seeing you. I have something to tell you which will alter your 
opinion. On her arrival in England this lady informed my 
aunt that she had met with you accidentally on the French fron- 
tier, and that she had seen you (so far as she knew) struck dead 
at her side by a shell. Remember that, and recall what hap- 
pened just now. Without a word to warn her of your restora- 
tion to life, she finds herself suddenly face to face '^ith you, a 
liv’^ing woman — and this at a time when it is easy any one 


JULIAN. 


S5 


who looks at her to see that she is in delicate health. What is 
there wondei-ful, what is there unaccountable, in her fainting 
under such circumstances as these ? ” 

The question was plainly put. Where was the answer to it*? 

There was no answer to it. Mercy’s wisely candid statement 
of the manner in which she had first met with Grace, and of 
the accident which had followed, had served Mercy’s purpose 
but too well. It was sim})ly impossible for persons acquainted 
with that statement to attach a guilty meaning to the swoon. 
The false Grace Roseberry was still as far beyond the reach of 
suspicion as ever, and the true Grace was quick em ugh to see 
it. She sank into the chair from which she had risen ; lior 
hands fell in hopeless despair on her lap. 

“ Everything is against me,” she said. “ The truth itself 
turns liar, and takes her side.” She paused and rallied her sink- 
ing courage. “No,” she cried resolutely, “I won’t submit to 
have my name, and my place taken from me by a vile adventu- 
ress ! Say what you like-, I insist on exposing her ; I won’t 
leave the house ! ” 

The servant entered the room, and announced that the cab 
was at the door. 

Grace turned to Julian with a defiant wave of her hand. 
“ Don’t let me detain you,” she said. “ I see I have neither 
advice nor help to expect from Mr. Julian Gray.” 

Julian beckoned to the servant to follow him into a corner 
of the room. r 

“ Do you know if the doctor has been sent for ? ” he asked. 

“ I believe not, sir. It is said in the servants’ hall that the 
doctor is not wanted.” 

Julian was too anxious to be satisfied with a report from the 
servants’ hall. He hastily wrote on a slip of paper : “ Has she 
recovered 1 ” and then gave the note to the man, with direc- 
tions to take it to Lady Janet. 

“Did you hear what I said V' Grace inquired, while the mes- 
senger was absent in the dining-room. 

“ I will answer you directly,” said Julian. 

The servant appeared again as he spoke, with some lines in 
pencil written by Lady Janet on the back of Julian’s rota 
“ Tliank God we have revived her. In a few moments we hope 
to be able to take her to her room.” 


96 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


The nearest way to Mercy’s room was through the library 
Grace’s immediate removal had now become a necessity which' 
Avas not to be trifled with. Julian addressed himself to meet 
ing the difficulty the instant he was left alone with Grace. 

“ Listen to me,” he said. “ The cab is waiting, and I liaA'o 
■ my last words to j'-ay to you. You are now (thanks to the con- 
sul’s recommendation) in my care. Decide at once whether you 
■•'will remain under my charge, or whether you will transfer 
yourself to the charge of the police.” 

' Grace started. “ What do you mean 1 ” she asked angrily. 

“If you wish to remain under my charge,” Julian proceeded, 
“ you will accompany me at once to the cab. In that case* 
I will undertake to give you an opportim’ jj of telling ymur 
stor'^^ to my own lawyer. He will be a fitter person to advise 
you than I am. Nothing will induce me to believe that the 
lady whom you have accused has committed, or is capable of 
committing, such a fraud as you charge her with. You wii. 
hear what the lawyer thinks, if you come with me. If you re- 
fuse. I shall have no choice but to send into the next room and 
tell them that you are still here. The result will be that you 
will find yoinself in charge of the police. Take which course 
you like ; I -will give you a minute to decide in. And remem- 
ber this, if I aopear to expr*'ss myself harshly, it is your con- 
duct which forces me to speak out. I mean kindly towards 
you ; I am advis’ng you honestly for your good.” 

He took out his watch to count the minute. 

Grace stole one furtive glance at his steady resolute face. 
She was perfectly unmoved by the manly consideration for her 
which Julian’s last words had expressed. All she understood 
was, that he was not a man to be trifled with. Future oppor- 
tunities would offer themselves of returning secretly to the 
house. She determined to yield — and deceive him. 

“ I am ready to go,” she said, rising Avith dogged submis- 
sion. “ Your turn now,” she muttered to herself, as she turned 
to the looking-glass to arrange her shawl. “Mv turn will come.” 

Julian advanced toAvardi her. as if to offer her his arnif and 
checked himself. Firmly persuaded as he Avas that her mind 
Avas deranged - readily as he admitted that she claimed, in \ir- 
tue of her affliction, every indulgence that he could extend to 


JULIAN. 


97 


her, there ^‘as something repellant to him at that moment in 
the bare idea of touching her. The image of the beautiful crea- 
ture who was the object of her monstrous accusation — the image 
of Mercy as she lay helpless for a moment in his arms — was 
vivid in his mind while he opened the door that led into the 
hall, and drew back to let Grace pass out before him. He left 
the servant to help her into the cab. The man respectfully c d- 
dressed him as he took his seat opposite to Grace. 

“ I am ordered to say that your room is ready, sir ; and that 
her ladyship expects you to dinner.” 

Absorbed in the events which had followed his aunt’s invita- 
tion, Julian had forgotten his engagement to stay at Mable- 
thorpe Hous^ Cjiuld he return, knowing his own heart as he 
now knew it ? Could he honourably remain, perhaps for weeks 
together, in Mercy’s society, conscious as he now was of the im- 
pression which she had produced on him? No. The one hon- 
ourable course that he could take was to find an excuse for 
withdrawing from his engagement. “ Beg her ladyship not to 
wait dinner for me,” he said. “ I will write and make my apol- 
ogies.” The cab drove off. Tlie wondering servant waited on 
the dooi-step, looking after it. “ I wouldn’t stand in Mr. 
J ulian’s shoes for something,” he thought, with his mind run- 
ning on the difficulties of the young clergyman’s position. 
“ There she is, along with him in the cab. What is he going to 
do with her after that ? ” 

Julian himself — if it had been put to him at the moment — 
could not have answered the question. 

Lady Janet’s anxiety was far from being relieved when Mercy 
had been restored to her senses and conducted to her own room. 

Her mind remained in a condition of unreasoning alarm 
which it was impossible to remove. Over and over again she 
was told that the woman w^o had terrified her had left tln^ 
liouse, and would never be permitted to enter it more. Over 
and over again she was assured that the stranger’s frantic as- 
sertions were regarded by everybody about her as unworthy 
of a moment’s serious attention. She persisted in doubting 
whether they were telling her the truth. A shocking distrust 
of her friends seemed to possess her. She shrank when Lady 


o 


98 


THE IT£W MAGDALLIX. 


Janet approached the bedside. She shuddered when Lady Ja- 
net kisseil her. She flatly refused to let Horace see her. She 
asked the strangest questions about Julian Gray, and shook 
her head suspiciously when they told her that he was absent 
from the house. At intervals, she hid her face in the bed- 
clothes and murmured to herself piteously, “ Oh ! what shall 
Ido? What shall 1 do?” At other times, her one petition 
was to be left alone. “I want nobody in my room ” — that was 
her sullen cry — “ Nobody in my room.” 

The evening advanced and brought with it no change for 
the better. Lady Janet, by the advice of Horace, sent tor her 
own medical advise)-. 

The doctor shook liis head. The symptoms, he said, indica- 
ted a serious shock to the nervous system. He wrote a seda- 
tive prescription ; and he gave (with a happy choice of Ian 
guage) some sound and safe advice. It amounted briefly to 
this : “ Take her away, and try the seaside.” Lady Janet’s 
customary energy acted on the advice without a moment’s need- 
less delay. She gave the necessary directions for packing the 
trunks over night, and decided on leaving Mablethorpe House 
with jMercy the next morning. 

Shortly after tiie doctor had taken his departure, a letter 
from Julian, addressed to Lady Janet, was delivered by pri 
vate messenger. 

Beginning with the necossarv apologies for the writer’s ab- 
sence, the letter proceeded in these terms : 

Before I permitted my companion to accompany me to the 
lawyer’s office, T felt the necessity of consulting him as to my 
present position towards her. 

“ 1 told him — what I think it only right to repeat to you-^ 
that I do not feel justified in actii'g on my own opinion that 
her mind is deranged. In the ca^e of this friendless woman 
I want medical authority, and mure even than tha:, I want 
some positive proof, to satis:y my conscience as well as to con- 
firm my view. 

“ Finding me obstinate on this point, the lawyer undertook 
to consult a physician accustomed to liie treatiiier t of the in- 
sane, on my behalf 

“After sending a message, and receiving the answer, he said, 


JULIAN. 


99 


‘‘Bring the lady here — in half an hour ; she shall tell her 
story to the doctor instead of telling it to me.’ The proposal 
rather staggered me ; I asked how it was possible to induce 
her to do that. He laughed, and answered, ‘I shall present 
the doctor as my senior partner ; my senior partner will be the 
very m;in to advise her.’ You know that 1 hate all deception — ■ 
even where the end in view appears to justify it. On this oc- 
casion, however, there was no other alternative than to let the 
lawyer take his own course — or to run the risk of a delay which 
might be followed by serious results. 

“ I waited in a room by myself (feeling very uneasy I own) 
until the doctor joined me after the interview was over. 

“ His opinion is, briefly, this : 

‘‘ After careful examination of the unfortunate creature, he 
thinks that there are unmistakeably symptoms of mental ab- 
beration. But how far the mischief has gone, and whether her 
case is, or is not, sufficiently grave to render actual restraint 
necessary, he cannot positively say, in our present state of 
ignorance as to facts. 

“ ‘Thus far,’ he observed, ‘ we know nothing of that part of 
her delusion which relates to Mercy Merrick. The solution of 
the difficulty in this case, is to be found there. I entirely 
agree with the lady that the enquiries of the consul at Mann- 
heim are far from being conclusivT. Furnish me with satisfac- 
tory evidence either that there is, or is not, such a person really 
in existence as Mercy Merrick, and T will give you a positive 
opinion on the case, whenever you choose to ask for it. 

“ Those words have decided me on starting for the Conti- 
nent, and renewing the search for Mercy Mcrricic. 

“ My friend the lawyer wonders jocosely whether / am in 
my right senses. His advice is, that I should apply to the 
nearest magistrate, and relieve you and myself of all further 
trouble in that way. 

“ Perhaps you agree with him ? My dear aunt (as you have 
often said) I do nothing like other people. I am interested in 
I Ids case. I cannot abandon a foi lorn woman who has been 
confided to me to the tender mercies of strangers, so long as 
there is any hope of my making discoveries which may bo 
instrumental in restoring her to herself — perhaps/also, in re- 
storing her to her friends. 


100 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


“ I start by the mail train to night. My plan is, to go first to 
Mannheim, and consult with the consul and hospital doctors ; 
then to find my way to the German surgeon, and to question 
him ; and that done, to make the last and hardest effort of all — 
the effort to trace the French ambulance and to penetrate the 
mystery of Mercy Merrick. 

“ Immediately on my return I will wait on you, and tell you 
what I have accomplished, or how I have failed. 

“ In the meanwhile, pray be under no alarm about the reap- 
pearance of this unhappy woman at your house. She is fully 
occupied in writing (at my suggestion) to her friends in Cana- 
da; and she is under the care of the landlady at her lodgings — 
an experienced and trustworthy person, who has satisfied the 
doctor as well as myself of her fitness for the charge she has 
undertaken. 

“Pray mention this to Miss Roseberry (whenever you think 
it desirable), with the respectful expression of my sympathy, 
and of my best wishes for her speedy restoration to health. 
And once more forgive me for failing, under stress of necessity, 
to enjoy the hospitality of Mablethorpe House. ” 

Lady Janet closed Julian's letter, feeling far from satisfied 
with it. She sat for a while, pondering over what her nenhew 
had written to her. 

“ One of two things," thought the quick-witted old lady. 
“ Either the lawyer is right, and J ulian is a fit companion for 
the madwoman whom he has taken under his charge, or he 
has some second motive for this absurd journey of his which 
he has carefully abstained from mentioning in his letter. What 
can the motive be ? " 

At intervals* during the night that question recurred to her 
ladyship again and again. The utmost exercise of her ingen- 
uity failing to answer it, her one resource left was to wait pa- 
tiently for Julian’s return, and, in her own favourite phrase, to 
“ have it out of him ’’ then. 

The next morning Lady Janet and her adopted daughter 
left Mablethorpe House for Brighton; Horace (who had begged 
to be allowed to accompany them) being sentenced to remain 
in London by Mercy’s express desire. Why — nobody could 
guess ; and Mercy refused to say. 


JULIAN. 


101 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Enter Julian. 

t WEEX has passed. The scene opens again in the 
dining-room at Mablethorpe House. 

The hospitable table bears once more its burden of 
good things for lunch. But on this occasion, Lady Janet sits 
alone. Her attention is divided between reading her newspaper 
and feeding her cat. The cat is a sleek and splendid creature. 
He carries an erect tail. He rolls luxuriously on the soft carpet. 
He approaches his mistress in a series of coquettish curves. 
He smells wdth dainty hesitation at the choicest morsels that 
can be offered to him. The musical monotony of his purring 
falls soothingly on her ladyship’s ear. She stops in the mid- 
dle of a leading article and looks with a careworn face at the 
happy cat. “ Upon my honour,” cries Lady Janet, thinking, 
in her inveterate ly ironical manner, of the cares that trouble 
her, all things considered, Tom, I wish I was you ! ” 

The cat starts — not at his mistress’s complimentary apostro- 
phe, but at a knock at the door which follows close upon it. 
Lady Janet says, carelessly enough, “ Come in looks round 
listlessly to see who it is ; and starts, like the cat, when the 
door opens and discloses — Julian Gray ! 

“ You — or your ghost V' she exclaims. 

She has noticed already that Julian is paler than usual, and 
that there is something in his manner at once uneasy and sub- 
dued — highly uncharacteristic of him at other times. He takes 
a seat by her side, and kisses her hand. But — for the first time 
ill his aunt’s experience of him — he refuses the good things 
on the lunch eon-table, and he has nothing to say to the cat ! 
That neglected animal takes refuge on Lady Janet’s lap. Lady 
Janet, with her eyes fixed expectantly on her nephew (deter- 
mining to “ have it out of him,” at the first opportunity) waits 
to hear what he has to say for himself. Julian has no alterna- 
tive but to break the silence, and tell his story as he best may. 


102 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


‘‘ I got back from the Continent last night,” he began. ‘^And 
I come here, as 1 promised, to report myself on my return. 
How does your ladyship do % How is Miss Roseberry ? 

Lady Janet laid an indicative finger on the lace pelerine 
which ornamented the upper part of her dress. ‘‘ Here is the 
old lady, well,” she answered — and pointed next to the room 
above them. “ And there,” she added, “ is the young lady ill f 
Is anything the matter with 9/ou, Julian 

“ Perhaps I am a little tired after my journey. Never mind 
ino. Is Miss Roseberry still sulfering from the shock 

“What else should she be suffering from ] I will never for- 
give you, Julian, for bringing that c;razy impostor into my 
house.” 

“ My dear aunt, when I was the innocent means of bringing 
her here I had no idea that such a person as Miss Roseberry 
was in existence. Nobody laments what has happened more 
sincerely than I do. Have you had medical advice 1 

“ I took her to the seaside a week since, by medical advice.” 
“ Has the change of air done her no good V* 

“ None whatever. If anything, the change of air has made 
her worse. Sometimes she sits for hours together, as pale as 
death, without looking at anything, and without uttering a 
word. Sometimes, she brightens up, and seems as if she was 
eager to say something — and then. Heaven only knows why, 
checks herself suddenly as if she was afraid to speak. I could 
support that. But what cuts me to the heart, Julian, is, that, 
she does not appear to trust me and to love me as she did. She 
seems to be doubtful of me ; she seems to be frightened of me. 
If I did not know that it was simply impossible that such a 
thing could be, I should really think she suspected me of be- 
lieving what that wretch said of her. In one word (and be- 
tween ourselves) I begin to fear she will never get over the 
fright which caused that fainting fit. There is serious mischief 
somewhere — and try as I may to discover it, it is mischief be- 
yond my finding.” 

“ Can the doctor do nothing 

Lady Janet’s bright black eyes answered, before she replied 
m words, with a look of supreme contempt. 

“ The doctor I” she repeated disdainfully. “ I brought Grace 
back last night in sheer despair, and I sent for the doctor this 


JULIAN. 


103 


morning. He is at the head of his profession ; he is said to he 
making ten thousand a year — and he knows no more about it 
than I do. l am quite serious. The great physician has just 
gone away with two guineas, in his pocket. One t-uinea for 
advising me to keep her quiet; another guinea for telling me 
to trust to time. Do you wonder how he gets on at this rate 1 
My dear boy, they all get on in the samo way. The medical 
profession thrives on two incurable diseases in these modern 
days — a He-disease and a She- disease. She-disease — nervous 
depression ; He-disease — suppressed gout. Remedies, one 
guinea if you go to the doctor ; two guineas, if the doctor goes 
to ym. I might have bought a new bonnet,” cried her ladyship 
indignantly, “ with the money 1 have given to that man ! Let 
us change the subject. I lose my temper when I think of it 
Besides, I want to know something. Why did you go abroad 

At that plain question Julian looked unaffeciedly surprised. 
*‘1 wrote to explain,” he said. “Have you not xeceived my 
letter 

“ Oh, I got your letter. It was long enough, in all consci- 
ence — and, long as it was, it did’nt tell me the one thing I 
wanted to know.” 

“ What is the * one thing 1 ’ ” 

Lady Janet’s reply pointed— not too palpably at first — at 
that second motive for Julian’s journey which she had sus- 
pected J ulian of concealing from her. 

“ I want to know,” she said, “ why you troubled yourself to 
make your inquiries on the Continent in pennon? You know 
where my old courier is to be found. You have yourself pro- 
nounced him to be the most intelligent and trustworthy of 
men. Answer me honestly — could you not have sent him in 
your place 

“ I mi^t have sent him,” Julian admitted — a little reluc- 
tantly. ^ 

“ You might have pent the courier — and you were under an 
engagement to stay here as my guest. Answer me honestly 
once more. Why did you go away V 

Julian hesitated. Lady Janet paused for his re])ly, with the 
air of a woman who was prepared to wait (it necessary) for the 
rest of the afternoon. 

“] had a reason of my own for going,” Julian said at last. 


104 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


“ Yes V’ rejoined Lady Janet, prepared to wait (if necessary) 
till the next morning. 

‘ “A reason,” Julian resumed, “which I would rather not 
mention.” 

“Oh!” said Lady Janet. “Another mystery— eh? And 
another woman at the bottom of it, no doubt ? Thank you — 
that will do — I am sufficiently ansAvered. No wonder — as a 
clergyman — that you look a little confused. There is perliaps 
a certain grace, under the circumstances, in looking confused. 
We will change the subject again. You stay here, of course, 
now you have come back ?” 

Once more the famous pulpit orator seemed to find himself 
in the inconceivable predicament of not knowing what to say. 
Once more Lady Janet looked resigned to wait — (if neces- 
sary) until the middle of next Aveek. 

Julian took refuge in an answer worthy of the most com- 
monplace man on the face of the cmlised earth. 

“ I beg your ladyship to accept my thanks and my excuses,” 
he said. 

Lady Janet’s many ringed -fingers mechanically stroking the 
cat in her lap, began to stroke him the Avrong Avay. Lady 
Janet’s inexhaustible patience showed signs of failing her at 
last. 

“ Mighty civil, I am sure,” she said. “ Make it complete. 
Say, Mr. Julian Gray presents his compliments to Lady Janet 
lioy, and regrets that a previous engagement — Julian !” ex- 
claimed the old lady, suddenly pushing the cat off her lap, and 
flinging her last pretence of good temper to the winds — “ Ju- 
lian, I am not to be trifled Avith I There is but one explaiui- 
tion of your conduct — you are evidently avoiding my house. Is 
there somebody you dislike in it ? Is it Me T 

Julian intimated by a gesture that his aunt’s last question 
was absurd. (The much injured cat elevated his hack, AA'aved 
his tail sloAvly, walked to the fireplace, and honoured the rug 
by taking a seat on it.) 

Lady Janet persisted. “ Is it Grace Koseberry ?” she asked 
next. 

Even Julian’s patience began to shoAv signs of yielding. His 
manner assumed a sudden decision, his voice rose a tone louder. 

“ You insist on knowing ?” he said. “ It is Miss Roseberry.” 


JtJLIAN. 105 

You don’t like her V cried Lady Janet, with a sudden 
burst of angry surprise. 

Julian broke out, on his side : “ If I see any more of her,” 
he answered, the rare colour mounting passionately in his 
cheeks, “ I shall be the unhappiest man living. If I see any 
* more of her, I shall be false to my old friend who is to marry 
her. Keep us apart. If you have any regard for my peace of 
mind, keep us apart.” 

Unutterable amazement expressed itself in his aunt’s lifted 
hands. Ungovernable curiosity uttered itself in his aunt’s next 
words. 

You don’t mean to tell me you are in love with Grace f’ 

Julian sprang restlessly to his feet, and disturbed the cat at 
the fireplace. (The cat left the room.) 

“ I don’t know what to tell you,” he said, “ I can’t realise it 
to myself. No other woman has ever roused the feeling in me 
which this woman seems to have called to life in an instant. In 
the hope of forgeting her I broke my engagement here ; I pur- 
posely seized the opportunity of making those enquiries abroad. 
Quite useless. I think of her, morning, noon, and night. I 
see her and hear her, at this moment, as plainly as I see and 
hear You. She has made her-seli a part of my-self. I don’t 
understand my life without her. My power of will seems to be 
gone. I said to myself this morning, ‘ I will write to my aunt; 
I won’t go back to Mablethorpe House.’ Here I am in Mable- 
thorpe House, with a mean subterfuge to justify me to my own 
conscience. ‘ I owe it to my aunt to call on my aunt.’ That 
is what I said to myself on the way here ; and I was secretly 
hoping every step of the way that She would come into the 
room when I got here. I am hoping it now And she is 
engaged to Horace Holmcroft — to my oldest friend, to my best 
friend ! 3,n infernal rascal ? or am I a weak fool God 

knows — I ‘dofi’t. Keep my secret, aunt. I am heartily ashamed 
of myself : I used to think I was made of better stuff than this. 
Don’t say a word to Horace. I must, and will, conquer it 
Let me go.” 

He snatched up his hat Lady Janet, rising with the activity 
of a young woman, pursued him across the room, and stopped 
him at the door. 

“ No,” answered the resolute old lady, “ I won’t let you go. 
Come bade with me.” 


m 


Til 15 NEW MAUDALEII, 


As she said those words she noticed witli a certain fond pride 
the brilliant colour mounting in his cheeks — the flashing 
hrightness which lent an added lustre to his eyes. He had 
never, to her mind, looked so handsome before. She took his 
arm, and led him to the chairs which they had just left. It 
was shocking, it was wrong (she mentally admitted), to look on 
Mercy, under the circumstances, v/ith any other eye than tho 
eye of a brother or a friend. In a clergyman (perhaps) doubly 
shocking, doubly wrong. But, with all her respect for the 
vested intet’ests of Horace, Lady Janet could not blame Julian. 
Worse still, she was privately conscious that he had, somehow 
or other, risen, rather than fallen, in her estimation within tho 
last minute or two. Who could deny that her adopted daugh- 
ter was a charming creature! Who could wonder if a man of 
refined tastes admired licr! TJpon the whole, her ladyship 
humanely decided that her nephew was rather to be pitied than 
blamed. What daughter of Eve (no matter whether she was 
seventeen or seventy, could have honestly arrived at any other 
conclusion ! Do what a man may — let him commit anything 
he likes, from an error to a crime — so long as there is a woman 
at the bottom of it, tli. re is an inexhaustible fund of pardon for 
him in every other woman’s heart. “ Sit down,” said Lady 
Janet, smiling in spite of herself ; “ and don’t talk in that 
horrible way again. A man, Julian — especially a famous man 
like you — ought to know how to control himself.” 

J ulian burst out laughing bitterly. 

“ Send upstairs for my self-control,” he said. ** It’s in her 
possession — not in mine. Good morning, aunt.” 

He rose from his chair. Lady Janet instantly pushed him 
back into it. 

“ I insist on your staying here,” she said, if it is only for 
a few minutes longer. I have something to say to you.” 

“ Does it refer to Miss Roseberry ! ” 

“ It refers to the hateful woman who frightened Miss Rose* 
berry. Now are you satisfied.” 

Julian bov/ed, and settled himself in his chair. 

“ I don’t much like to acknowledge it,” his aunt went on. 
“But I want you to understand that I have something really 
serious to speak about, for once in a way. Julian ! that wretch 
not only frightens Grace — she actually frightens Me.” 

“ Erightuis you! She is quite harmless, poor thing.” 


jrtJAN. 107 

” * Poor tiling !’ ” rencvatod i^ady Janet. **Did you say ‘poor 
thing’?" 

“Yes." 

“ Ts it possible that yon pity lioi‘? " 

“ From the bottom of my heart." 

The old lady’s temper gave way again at that reply. “ I hate 
a man who can’t hate anybody ! " she burst out. “ If you 
had been an ancient Eoman, Julian, I believe you would 
have pitied New himself." 

Julian cordially agreed with her. “I believe I should" 
he said quietly. “ All sinners, my dear aunt, are more or 
less miserable sinners. Nero must have been one of the 
wretchedest of mankind.” 

“ Wretched !” exclaimed Lady Janet. “ Nero wretched ! 
A man who committed robbery, arson and murder, to his own 
violin accompaniment — wretched ! What next, I wonder? 
When modern philanthro[)y liegins to apologise for Nero, 
modern philanthropy has arrived at a pretty pass indeed ! We 
shall hear next that Bloody Queen ]\Iary was as playful as a 
kitten ; and if poor dear Henry the Eighth carried anything 
to an extreme, it was the practice of the domestic virtues. 
Ah, how I hate cant ! What were we talking about just now 1 
You wander from the subject, Julian; you are, what I call, 
bird-witted. I protest I forget what I wanted to say to you. 
No, I won’t be reminded of it. I may be an old woman, but I 
am not in my dotage yet ! Why do you sit there staring ? Flave 
you nothing to say for yourself ? Of all the people in the world, 
have you lost the use of your tongue?” 

Julian’s excellent temper, and accurate knowledge of* his 
aunt’s character, exactly fitted him to calm the rising storm. 
He contrived to lead Lady Janet insensibly back to the h.st 
subject, by dexterous reference to a nari-ative which he had 
thus far left untold — the narrative of his adventures on tlio 
Continent. 

“ I liave a great deal to say, aunt,” he replied. I have not 
yet told you of my discoveries abioad.” 

Lady Janet instantly took the bait. 

“ 1 knew there was something forgotten,” she said. “ You 
have been all this time in the house, and you have told me 
nothing. Begin directly." 

Patient Julian began. 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


105 


CHAPTER XIV. 

COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. 

Cbi 

WENT first to Mannheim, Lady J anet, as I told you 1 
Jlf should in my letter ; and I heard all that the consul 
and the hospital doctors could tell me. No new fact 
of the slightest importance turned up. I got my directions for 
finding the German surgeon, and I set forth to try what 1 
could next make of the man who had performed the operation. 
On the question of his patient’s identity he had (as a perfect 
strangor to her) nothing to tell me. On the question of her men- 
tal condition, however, he made a very important statement. 
He owned to me that he had operated on another person injured 
by a shell-wound on the head, at the battle of Solferino, and 
that the patient (recovering also in this case) recovered — mad. 
That is a remarkable admission ; don’t you think so.” 

Lady Janet’s temper had hardly been allowed time enough to 
subside to its customary level. 

“ Very remarkable, I dare say,” she answered, “ to people 
who feel any doubt of this pitiable lady of yours being mad. 
I feel no doubt — and, thus far, I find your account of yourself, 
Julian, tiresome in the extreme. Get on to the end. Did you 
lay your hand on Mercy Merrick T 

«No.” 

“ Did you hear anything of her 
Nothing. DifiBculties beset me on every side. The French 
ambulance had shared in the disasters of France — it was broken 
up. The wounded Frenchmen were prisoners, somew^here in 
Germany, nobody knew where. The French surgeon had been 
ki 5 led in action. His assistants were scattered — most likely in 
hiding. I began to despair of making any discovery, when acci- 
dent threw in my way two Prussian soldiers who had been in the 
French cottage. They confirmed what the German surgeon 
told the consul, and what Horace himself told me^ namely that 
no nurse in a black dress was to be seen in the place. If there 


tX)MlKG EVENtS CAST TlIEtR SHADOWS BEFORE. 109 


bad been such a person, she would certainly (the Prussians 
informed me) have been found attendance on the injured 
Frenchmen. The cross of the Geneva Convention would have 
been anijdy sufficient to protect her : no woman wearing that 
badge of honour would have disgraced herself by abando iiing 
the wounded men, before the Germans entered the place.” 

“ In short,” interposed Lady Janet, “ there is no such j)erson 
as Mercy Merrick '1” 

“ I can draw no other conclusion,” said Julian, “ unless the 
English doctor’s idea is the right one. After hearing what I 
have just told you, he thinks the woman herself is Mercy 
Merrick.” 

Lady Janet held up her hand, as a sign that she had an ob* 
jection to make here. 

“ You and the doctor seem to have settled everything to your 
entire satisfaction on both sides,” she said. “ But there is one 
difficulty that 3^011 have neither of you accounted for yet.” 

“ What is it, aunt.” 

“You talk glibly enough, Julian, about this woman’s mad 
assertion that Grace is the missing nurse, and that she is Grace. 
But you have not explained yet how the idea first got into her 
head ; and, more than that, how it is that she is acquainted 
with my name and address, and perfectly familial- with Grace’s 
papers and Grace’s affairs. These things are a puzzle to a per- 
son of my average intelligence. Can your clever friend, the 
doctor, account for them 

“ Shall I tell you what he said, when I saw him this morn- 
ing T’ 

“ Will it take long r 

“ It will take about a minute.” 

“ You agreeably surprise me. Go on.” 

“ You want to know how she gained a knowledge of your 
name, and of Miss Roseberry’s affairs,” J ulian resumed. “ The 
doctor says, in one of two ways. Either Miss Roseberry must 
have spoken of you, and of her own affairs, while she and the 
stranger were together in the French cottage ; or the stranger 
must have obtained access privately to Miss Roseberry’s papers. 
Do you agree so far f’ 

Larly Janet began to feel interested for the first time. 

** Perfectly^’ she said. “ I have no doubt Grace rashly talked^ 


110 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


of iri:ittcrs which an older and wiser person wouid have kept to ■ 
herself.’’ 

“ Very good. Do you also agree that the last idea in the 
woman’s mind when she was struck l)y the shell, might have i 
been (quite probably) the idea of Miss lloseberry’s identity J 
.and Miss Roseberry’s affairs'? You think it likely enough? 
Well ! what happens after that ! The wounded woman is 
ibrought to life by an o})eration, and she becomes delirious in 
ithe liospital at Mannheim. During her delirium the idea of 
Miss Roseberry’s identity ferments in her brain, and assumes 
its present perverted form. In that form it still remains. As 
.a necessary consequence, she persists in reversing the two 
identities. She says she is Miss Roseb^riy, and declares Miss j 

Rosoberry to be Mercy Merrick. There is the doctor’s explan- i 

;ation. What do you think of it?” I 

“ Very ingenious, I dare say. The doctor doesn’t quite sat- i 
dsfy me, however, for ali that. I think” — • 

What Lady Janet thought was not destined to be expressed. 

'She suddenly checked herself, and held up her hand for the \ 
isecond time. 

“Another objection ?” inquired Julian. 

“ Hold your tongue !” cried the old lady. “ If you say a 
'Word more I shall lose it again.” 

^ “ Lose what, aunt ?” 

“ What I wanted to say to you, ages ago. I have got it back 
:again — it begins with a question. (No more of the doctor ! I 
have liad enough of him !) Where is she — ycnir j)itiable lady, 
my ci*azy wretch — where is she now ? Still in London ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ And still at large ?” 

“ Still with the landlady, at her lodgings.” 

“ Very well. Now answer me this ! What is to prevent 
'her from making another attempt to force her way (or steal her 
way) into rny house ? How am I to protect Grace, how am 1 
xo })rotect myself, if she comes here again ?” 

“ Is that really v;]iat you wished to speak to me about ? 

“ That, and nothing else.” 

They were both too deeply interested in the subject of tlieir 
conversation to look .towards the conservatory, and to notice 


CO^^IINQ EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. Ill 


Ihe appearance at that moment of a distant gentleman among 
the plants and flowers, "who had made his way in from the gar- 
den outside. Advancing noiselessly on the soft Indian matting, 
the gentleman ere long revealed himself under the form and 
features of Horace Holmcroft, Before entering the dining- 
room, he paused, fixing his eyes incpiisitiv'ely on the back of 
Lady Janet’s visitor — the back being all that he could see in the 
position ho then occupied. After a pause of an instant, the 
visitor spoke, and further uncertainty was at once at an end. 
Horace, nevertheless, made no movement to enter the room. 
He had his own jealous distrust of what Julian might be 
tempted to say at a private interview with his aunt; and he 
waited a little longer, on tlio chance that his doubts might be 
verified. 

“ Neither you nor Miss Boseberry need any protection from 
the poor deluded creature,” Julian went on. “ I have gained ■ 
gr(‘at influence over her — and I have satisfied her that it is 
useless to present herself here again.” 

‘‘ I beg your pardon,” interposed Horace, speaking from the 
conservatory door, “ You have done nothing of the sort.” 

(He had heard enough to satisfy him that tlie talk was not 
taking the direction wliich his suspicions had anticipated. And, 
as an additional incentive to show himself, a hapjiy chance had 
now offered him tko opportunity of pmttiiig dulian in the 
wrong.) 

“ Good heavens, Horace ! ” exclaimed Lady Janet. ** Where 
Jo you come from ? And what do you mean ? ” 

“ I heard at the lodge that your lad^^ship and Grace had' 
returned last night. And I came in at once, without troubling: 
the servants, by the shortest way,” He turned to Julian 
next. “ The woman you were speaking of just iiov/,” lu' pro- 
ceeded, ‘‘has been here again already- in Lady Janet’s ab- 
sence.” 

Lady Janet immcdhitcly looked at her nephew. Julian 
reassured her by a gesture. 

“ Impossible,” he said. There must be some mistake.” 

“ There is no mistake,” Horace rejoined. “I am repeating 
what I liavc just heard from the lodge-keeper himselr. He 
hesitated to mention it to Lady Janet for fear of alarming her. 
Only three day^s since this person had the audacity to ask hiim 


il2 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


tor her ladyship’s address at the seaside. Of course he refused 
to give it.” 

“ You hear that, Julian 1 ” said Ik^dy Janet. 

No signs of anger or mortification escaped Julian. The 
expression in his face at that moment was an expression of 
sincere distress. 

“ Pray don’t alarm yourself,” he said to his aunt, in his 
quietest tones. “ If she attempts to annoy you or Miss Rose- 
berry again, I have it in my power to stop her instantly.” 

“ How 1 ” asked Lady Janet. 

“ How, indeed !” echoed Horace. “ If we'give her in charge 
to the police we shall become the subject of a public scandal.” 

“I have managed to avoid all danger of scandal,” Julian 
answered ; the expression of distress in his face becoming more 
and more marked while he spoke. “ Before I called here 
to-day I had a private consultation with the magistrate of the 
district, and I have made certain arrangements at the police- 
station close by. On receipt of my card, an experienced man, 
in plain clothes, will present himself at any address that I in- 
dicate, and will take her quietly away. The magistrate will 
hear the charge in his private room, and will examine the 
■ evidence which I can produce, showing that she is not account- 
able for her actions. The proper medical officer will report 
officially on the case, and the law will place her under the 
necessary restraint.” 

Lady Janet and Horace looked at each other in amazement. 
Julian was, in their opinion, the last man on earth to take the 
course — at once sensible and severe — which Julian had ac- 
tually adopted. Lady J anet insisted on an explanation. 

“ Why do I hear of this now for the first time 1” she asked. 
“ Why did you not tell me you had taken these precautions 
before 1 ” 

Julian answered frankly and sadly. 

“ Because I hoped, aunt, that there would be no necessity 
for proceeding to extremities. You now force me to acknow- 
ledge that the lawyer and the doctor (both of whom I have 
seen this morning) think, as you do, that she is not to be 
trusted. It was at their suggestion entirely that I went to the 
magistrate. They put it to me whether the result of my en- 
quiries abroad — unsatisfactory as it may have been in otlier 


COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. 113 

respects — did not strengthen the conclusion that the poor 
woman’s mind is deranged. 1 felt compelled, in common 
honesty, to admit that it was so. Having owned this, I was 
bound to take such precautions as the lawyer and doctor 
thought necessary. I have done my duty — sorely against my 
own will. It is weak of me, I dare say — jut I can not bear 
the thought of treating this afflicted creature harshly. Her 
delusion is so hopeless ! her situation is such a pitiable one ! 

His voice faltered. He turned away abruptly and took up his 
hat. Lady Janet followed him, and spoke to him at the door. 
Horace smiled satirically, and went to warm himself at the fire. 

“ Are you going away, Julian 

“ I am only going to the lodge-keeper. I want to give him a ' 
word of warning in case of his seeing her again.” 

“ You will come back here ?” (Lady Janet lowered her 
voice to a whisper). “ There is really a reason, Julian, for 
your not leaving the house now.” 

I promise not to go away, aunt, until I have provided for 
your security. If you, or your adopted daughter, are alarmed 
by another intrusion, I give you my word of honour my card 
shall go to the police-station — however painfully I may feel it 
myself.” (He, too, lowered his voice at the next words.) “ In 
the meantime, remember what I confessed to you while v^e 
were alone ! For my sake, let me see as little of Miss Rose- 
berry as possible. Shall I find you in this room when I come 
back r’ 

“ Yes ” 

“ Alone r 

He laid a strong emphasis, of look as well as of tone, on 
that one word. Lady Janet understood what the emphasis 
meant. 

“ Are you really,” she whispered, as much in love with 
Grace as that T’ 

Julian laid one hand on his aunt’s arm, and pointed with 
the other to Horace — standing with his back to them, warm- 
ing his feet on the fender. 

“ Well T said Lady Janet. 

“ Well,” 'said Julian, with a smile on his lip and a tea^ in 
his eye, “ I never envied any man as I envy him /” 

With these words he left the room. 

H 


L14 


THE NEW iVIAOEALEN, 


CHAPTER XV. 

A WOMAN’S REMORSE. 

Tf - T AVTHG wnrined his feet to Ins own entire satisfaction, 
All Horace turned round from the fireplace, and discoverecl 
that he and Lady Janet were alone. 

“ Can I see Grace V’ he asked. 

The easy tone in which he put the question — a tone, as it 
M^ere, of proprietorship in “Grace” — jarred on Lady Janet at 
the moment. For the first time in her life she found herself 
comparing Horace with Julian — to Horace’s disadvantage. 
He was rich ; he was a gentleman of ancient lineage ; he 
bore an unblemished character. But who had the strong 
hrain? wlio had the great heart 1 AYhich was the IMan of the 
two 

“ Nobody can see her,” answered Lady Janet. “ Not even 
you I” 

The tone of the reply was sharp — with a dash of irony in 
it. But where is the modern young man — possessed of health 
and an independent income — who is capable of understanding 
that irony can be presumptuous enough to address itself to him 1 
Horace (with perfect politeness) declined to consider himself 
answered. 

“ Does your Ladyship mean that Miss Roseberry is in bed 
he asked. 

“ 1 mean that Miss Roseberry is in her room. T mean that 
I have twice tried to persuade Miss Roseberry to dress and 
come down stairs — and tried in vain. I mean that what Miss 
Roseberry refuses to do for kle, she is not likely to do for 
You ” 

How many more meanings of her own Lady Janet might 
have gone on enumerating, it is not easy to calculate. At her 
third sentence, a sound in the library caught her ear through 
the incompletely-closed door, and suspended the next words on 
her lips. Horace heard it also. It was the rustling sound 


A woman’s IlEMORSE. llj 

(travelling nearer and nearer over the library carpet) of a 
silken dress. 

(In tlie interval wliile adjoining event remains in a state of 
uncertainty, what is it the inevitable tendency of every English- 
man under thirty to do ? His inevitable tendency is to ask 
somebody to bet on the event. lie can no more resist it than 
lie can resist lifting his stick or his umbrella, in the absence 
of a gun, and pretending to shoot if a bird flies by him while 
he is out for a w'alk.) 

“ What will your ladyship bet that this is not Grace cried 
Horace. 

Her ladyship took no notice of the proposal ; her attention 
remaiin'd lixed on the libi-ary door. The rustling sound stop- 
]M'd fi.i- a nionient. The door was softly pushed open. The 
false Grace Ito.-.eberry enU-r d the room. 

Horace advanced to meet her, o’pened his lips to speak, and 
stopped — struck dumb by the change in his affianced wife since 
he had seen hei- last. Smne terrible oppression seemed to have 
crushed her. It was as if she had actually shrunk in height as 
well as in substance. She walked more slowly than usual ; she 
spoke more rarely than usual, and in a low’^er tone. To those 
who had seen her before the fatal visit of the stranger from 
Mannheim, it was the wreck of the woman that now appeared, 
instead of the woman Inu self. And yet there Avas the old charm 
still surviving through it all ; the grandeur of the head and eyes, 
the delicate symmetry of the features, the unsought grace of 
every movement — in a word, the unconquerable beauty which 
suffering cannot destroy, and which time itself is powerless to 
wear out. 

Lady Janet advanced and took her wdtli hearty kindness by 
both hands. 

“ My dear child, welcome among us again ! You have come 
down stairs to [)lease me ? ” 

She bent her head in sdent acknowdedgment that it wxas so. 
Lady Janet pointed to Horace : “ Here is somebody who hiu 
been longing to see you, Grace.” 

She never, looked up ; she stood submissive, her eyes fixecT 
on a little basket of coloured wools which hung on her arm. 
“Thank you. Lady Janet,” she said faintly. “ ThLink you, 
Horace.” 


116 


THE KEW MAGDALEN. 


Horace placed her arm in his, and led her to the sofa. She 
shivered as she took her seat, and looked round her. It was the 
first time she had seen the dining-room since the day when she 
had found herself face to face with the dead-alive. 

“ Why do you come here, my love ? ” asked Lady Janet. 
“The drawing-room would have been warmer and a pleasanter 
place for you.” 

“ I saw a carriage at the front door. I was afraid of meeting 
with visitors in the-drawing-room.” 

As she made that reply, the servant came in and announced 
the visitors’ names. Lady Janet sighed wearily. “ I must go 
and get rid of them,” she said, resigning herself to circumstan- 
ces. “What will you do, Grace.” 

- “I will stay here, if you please.” 

“ I will keep her company.” added Horace. 

Lady Janet hesitated. She had promised to see her nephew 
in the dining-room on his return to the house — and to see him 
alone. Would there be time enough to get rid of the visitors 
and to establish her adopted daughter in the emf)ty drawing- 
room before Julian appeared*? It was a ten minutes’ walk to 
the lodge, and he had to make the gatekeeper understand his 
instructions. Lady Janet decided that she had time enough 
at her disposal. She nodded kindly to Mercy, and left her 
alone with her lover. 

Horace seated himself in the vacant place on the sofa. So 
far as it was in his nature to devote himself to any one he was 
devoted to Mercy. “I am grieved to see how you have 
suffered,” he said, with honest distress in his face as he looked 
at her. “Try to forget what has happened.” 

“I am trying to forget. Do you think of it much *?” 

“ My darling, it is too contemptible to be thought of.” 

She placed her work basket on her lap. Her wasted fingers 
began absently sorting the wools inside. 

“ Have you seen Mr. J ulian Gray *? ” she asked suddenly. 

Y^es. 

“ What does he say about it *? ” She looked at Horace for 
the first time, steadily scrutinising his face. Horace took refuge 
in prevarication. 

“I really haven’t asked Julian’s opinion,” he said. 

She looked down again with a sigh, at the basket in her lap 
— considered a little — and tried him once more. 


A woman’s remorse. 


117 


has Mr. Julian Gray not been here for a whole week?” 
she went on. “The servants say he has been abroad. Is 
that true ?” 

It was useless to deny it. Horace admitted that the ser- 
vants were right. 

Her fingers suddenly stopped at their restless work among 
the wools : her breath quickened perceptibly. What had Jul- 
ian Gray been doing abroad ^ Had he been making inquiries'? 
Did he alone, of all the people who saw that terrible meeting 
suspect her ? Yes ! His was the finer intelligence ; his was 
a clergyman’s (a London clergyman’s) experience of frauds and 
deceptions, and the women who were guilty of them. Not a 
doubt of it now ! J ulian suspected her. 

“ When does he come back ? ” she asked, in tones so low 
that Horace could barely hear her. 

“ He has come back already. He returned last night.” 

A faint shade of colour stole slowly over the pallor of her 
face. She suddenly put her basket away, and clasped her 
hands together to quiet the trembling of them, before she 
asked her next question. 

“Where is” -She paused to steady her voice. “Where 

is the person,” she resumed, “ who came here and frightened 
me r’ 

Horace hastened to reassure her. “The person will not 
come again,” he said. “ Don’t talk of her ! Don’t think of 
her ! ’ 

She shook her head. “ There is something I want to know,” 
she persisted. “How did Mr. Julian Gray become acquainted 
with her 1 ” 

This was easily answered. Horace mentioned the consul at 
Mannheim, and the letter of introduction. She listened 
eagerly, and said her next words in a louder, firmer tone. 

“She was quite a stranger, then, to Mr. Julian Gray — be- 
fore that 

“ Quite a stranger,” Horace replied. “ No more questions— 
not another word about her, Grace ! I forbid the subject. 
Come, my own love !” he said, taking her hand, and bending 
over her tenderly, “ rally your spirits ! We are young — we 
love each other— now is our time to be happy !” 

Her hand turned suddenly cold, and trembled in his. Her 


118 


THE NEW MAGDALEN 

hrad sank with a helpless weariness on her bn'ast. Horace 
rose in alarm. 

“ Vou are cold— you are faint !” he said. “ Let me get you 
a glass of wine ! — let me mend the fii'e I” 

Tlie decanters were still on the luncheon-table. Horace in- 
sisted on her drinking some port wine. She barely took half 
the contents of the wine-glass. Even that little told on her 
sensitive organisation ; it roused her sinking energies of bo y 
and mind. After watching her anxiously, without attractiiig 
lier tmtice, Horace left her again to attend to the fire at tin' 
other end of the room. Her eyes followed him slowly with a 
hard and tearless despair. “Rally your spirits,” she repeated 
to lanself in a whisper. “My spirits! Oh, God I” She looked 
round at the luxury and beauty of the room, as those look who 
take their leave of familiar scenes. The moment after, her eyes 
sank, and rested on the rich dress that she wore — a gift from 
Lady Janet. She thought of the past; she thought of the 
future. Was the time near when she would be back again in 
the Itefuge, or back again in the streets ? — she who had been 
Lady Janet’s ado[)ted daughter, and Horace Holmcroft’s be- 
trothed wife ! A sudden frenzy of recklessness seized on her 
as she thought of the coming end. Horace was right ! Why 
not rally her spirits 1 Why not make the most of her time ? 
The last hours of her life in that house were at hand. Why 
not enjoy her stolen position while she could 1 “ Adventuress!” 
whispered the mocking spirit within her, “ be true to your 
character. Away with your remorse ! Hemorse is the luxury 
of an honest woman.” She caught up her basket of wools, in- 
spired by a new idea. “ Ring the bell !” she cried out to 
Horace at the fireplace. 

He looked round in wonder. The sound of her voice was 
so com})l(Uely altered that he almost fancied there must have 
been aiiother woman in the room. 

“ Ring the hell !” she repeated. “I have left my work up- 
stairs. If you want me to be in good spirits, 1 must have my 
work.” 

Still looking at her, Horace put his hand mechanically to 
the bell, and rang. One of the men-servants came in. 

“Go up stairs, and ask my maid for my work,” she said 
shai-ply. Even the man was taken by surprise ; it was her 


A WOMAN'S REMORSE. 


119 


habit to speak to the servants with a gentleness and considera- 
tion which had long since won all their hearts. “ Do you hear 
me V’ she asked impatiently. The servant bowed, and went 
out on his errand. She turned to Horace with flashing eyes 
and fevered cheeks. 

“What a comfort it is,” she said, “to belong to the upper 
classes ! A poor woman lias no maid to dress her, and no foot- 
man to send up stairs. Is life worth having, Horace, on less 
than five thousand a year I” 

The servant returned with a strip of embroidery. She took 
it with an insolent grace, and tohl him to bring her a footstool. 
The man obeyed. She tossed the embroidery away from he? 
on the sofa. “On second thoughts I don’t care about my 
work, she said. “Take it up-stairs again.” The perfectly 
trained servant, marvelling privately, obeyed once more. 
Horace, in silent astonishment, advanced to the sofli to observe 
her more nearly. “How grave you look !” she exclaimed, v.dth 
an air of flippant unconcern. “ You don’t approve of my sit 
ting idle, perhaps 1 Anything to please you ! / haven’t got to 
go up and down stairs. King the bell again.” 

“ My dear Grace,” Horace remonstrated gravely, “ you are 
quite mistaken. I never even thought of your work.” 

“ Never mind, it’s inconsistent to send for my work, and 
then send it away again. King the bell.” 

Horace looked at her without moving. “ Grace !” he said, 
“ what has come to you 1” 

“ How should I know 1” she retorted carelessly. “ Didn’t 
you tell me to rally my spirits? Will you ring the bell? or 
must I ?” 

Horace submits d. He frowned as he walked back to the^ 
bell. He was one cf the many people who instinctively resent 
anything that is new to them. This strange outbreak -was 
quite new to him. For the first time in his life he felt sympa- 
thy for a servant, when the much enduring man appeared once 
more. 

“Bring my work back ; I have changed my mind.” With 
that brief explanation she reclined luxuriously on the soft 
sofa cushions ; swinging one of her balls of wool to and fro 
above her head, and looking at it lazily as she lay back. “ I 
have a remark to make, Horace,” she went on, when the door 


120 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


had closed on her messenger. ** It is only people in our rank 
of life who get good servants. Did you notice Nothing 
upsets that man’s temper. A servant in a poor family would 
have been impudent ; a maid-of-all-work would have wondered 
when I was going to know my own mind.” The man returned 
with the embroidery. This time she received him graciously ; 
she dismissed him with her thanks. “ Have you seen your 
mother lately, Horace she asked, suddenly sitting up and 
busying herself with her work. 

“ I saw her yesterday,” Horace answered. 

“ She understands, I hope, that I am not well enough to 
call on her ? She is not offended with me ? ” 

Horace recovered his serenity. The deference to his mother 
implied in Mercy’s questions gently flattered his self-esteem. 
He resumed his place on the sofa. 

“ Offended with you !” he answered, smiling. My dear 
Grace, she sends you her love. And, more than that, she has 
a wedding-ppesent for you.” 

Mercy became absorbed in her work ; she stooped close over 
the emboidery — so close that Horace could not see her face. 
“ Do you know what the present is ?’V^she asked in lowered 
tones ; speaking absently. 

“No. I only know it is waiting for you. Shall I go ami 
get it to-day ? 

She neither accepted nor refused the proposal — she went on 
with her work more industriously than ever. 

“ There is plenty of time,” Horace persisted. “ I can go 
before dinner.” 

Still she took no notice : still never looked up. “ Your 
mother is very kind to me,” she said, abruptly. “ I was afraid, 
at one time, that she would think me hardly good enough to 
be your wife.” 

Horace laughed indulgently : his self-esteem was more gently 
flattered than ever. 

“ Absurd !” he exclaimed. “ My darling, you are connected 
with Lady Janet Roy. Your family is almost as good as 
our’s.” 

“ > Imost V* she repeated. ** Only almost 

Th^ momentary levity of expression vanished from Horace’s 
face. The himily-question was far too serious a question to be 


A woman’s remorse. 


121 


lightly treated. A becoming shadow of solemnity stole over 
his manner. He looked as if it was Sunday, and he was just 
stepping into churcli. 

“ In OUR family,” he said, “ we trace back — by my father, 
to the Saxons : by my motlier, to the Normans. Lady Janet’s 
family is an old family — on her side only.” 

Mercy dropped her embroidery, and looked Horace full in 
the face. She, too, attached no com.'&on importance to what 
she had next to say. 

“ If I had not been connected with Lady J anet,” she began, 
“ would you ever have thought of marrying me ? ” 

“ My love ! what is the use of asking 1 You are connected 
with Lady Janet.” 

She refused to let him escape answering her in that way. 

“Suppose I had not been connected with Lady Janet,” sl>e 
persisted. “ Suppose I had only been a good girl, with nothing 
but my own merits to speak for me. What would your mother 
have said, then ? ” 

Horace still parried the question — only to find the point of 
it pressed home on him once more. 

“ Why do you ask ? ” he said. 

“ I ask to be answered,” she rejoined.. “ Would your mother 
have liked you to marry a poor girl, of no family — with nothing 
but her own virtues to speak for her 1 ” 

Horace was fairly pressed back to the wall. 

“If you must know,” he replied, “my mother would have 
refused to sanction such a marriage as that.” 

“No matter how good the girl might have been ? ” 

There was something defiant — almost threatening — in her 
tone. Horace was annoyed — and he showed it when he spoke. 

“ My mother would have respected the girl, without ceasing 
to respect herself,” he said. “ My mother would have remem- 
bered what was due to the family name.” 

“ And she would have said, No 1 ” 

“ She would have said. No.” 

“Ahl” 

There was an andertone of angry contempt in the exclama- 
tion which made Horace start. “ What is the matter 1 ” he 
asked. 

“ Nothing,” she answered, and took up her embroidery again. 


122 


THE NEW mac: DAL EN. 

Tliere he sat at her side, anxiously looking at her — his hope in 
the future centred in his marriage ! In a week more, if she 
chose, she might enter that ancient family of which he had 
spoken so proudly, as his wife. “ Ob 1” she thought, “ if I 
didn’t love him ! if I had only his merciless mother to think 
of!” ^ ^ 

Uneasily conscious of some estrangement between them, 
Horace spoke again. “Surely,! have not offended you ?” he 
said. 

She turned towards him once more. The work dropped un- 
heeded on her lap. Her grand eyes softened into tenderness. 
A smile trembled sadly on her delicate lips. She laid one hand 
caressingly on his shoulder. All the beauty of her voice lent 
its charm to the next words that she said to him. The woman’s 
heart hungered in its misery for the comfort that could only 
come from his lips. 

“ You would have loved me, Horace — without stopping to 
think of the family name 1” 

The family name again ! How strangely she persisted in 
coming back to that I Horace looked at her without answer- 
ing ; trying vaiidy to fathom what was passing in her mind. 

She took his hand, and wrung it hard — as if she would 
wring the answer out of him in that way. 

“ You would have loved me f’ she repeated. 

The double spell of her voice and her touch was on him. He 
answered warmly, “ U nder any circumstances ! under any 
name 1” 

She put one arm round his neck, and fixed her eyes on his. 

“ Is that true ?” she asked. 

“ True as the heaven above us !” 

She drank in those few commonplace words with a greedy . 
delight. She forced him to repeat them in a new form. 

“No matter who I might have been 1 For myself alone ?” 

“ For yourself alone.” ♦ 

She threw both arms round him, and lahl her head passion- 
ately on his breast. “ I love you ! I love you ! 1 1 love you ! ! !” 
Her voice rose with hysterical vehemence, at each l epetition of 
the words — then suddenly sank to a low hoarse cry of rage and 
despair. The sense of her true position towards him revealed 
itself in all its horror as the confession of her love escaped her 


▲ woslvn’s remorsk 


123 


iip*. Her arms dropped iVoin him ; she flimg herself back on 
the sofa cushiom% hiding her face in her hands. “ Oh, leave 
me t ' she moaiiea, faintly. “Go ! go !” ^ 

L orace tried to wind his arm round her, and raise her. She 
starred to her lect, and waved liim back from her with a wild 
act ion of her hamls, as if she was frightened of him. “ The 
wediiiiig-presiUit !'’ she erica, sei/ing the first pretext that oc- 
curred to her. You offered to oring me your mother’s pre- 
sent. 1 am dying to sec .vliac it is. Go, aiul get it !” 

Horace lined to compose her. He might as well have tried 
to com[)ose the winds and the sea. 

“ Go !” she repeated, pressing one clenclied hand on her 
bosom. “ I. am not well. Talking excites me — I am hyste- 
rical ; I shall be better alone. Get me the present. Go 1” 

“ Shall I send Lady Janet ? Saall I riiig for your maid 
Send for iiobod}^ ! ring for nobody ! If y^m love me — leave 
me liere by myself! leave me instantly!’’ 

“ I shall see you, when 1 come back 

“ Yes ! yes I” 

There was no alternative but to obey lisi. O ivvillingly and 
forebodingly, Horace left the room. 

Sh(' di-ew a deep breath of relief, and dropped into the 
neaiest chair. If Horace had stayed a moment ionger — she 
felt it, she knew it — her head would have given way; she 
would have burst out before him with the leriible truth. 
“ O il !” she thought, pressing her cold hands on her burning- 
eyes, “ if 1 could only cry, now there is nobody to see me !” 

The room was empty, sln^ had every reason for coiichiding 
that she was alone. And yet, at that very moment, l here were 
ears that listened, there were eyes waiting to see her. 

Little by little the door behind her which faced the library 
and led into the billiard-room was opened noiselessly from 
without, by an inch at a time. As the opening was enlarged, 
a hand in a black glove, an arm in a black shieve, a])peaied, 
guiding the movement of the iloor.’ An interval of a mo- 
ment passed, and the worn white face of Grace Lloseberry 
showed itself stealthily, looking into tlie dining-room. 

Her eyes brightened with vindictive pleasare as they dis- 
co vei-iul Mercy sitting alone at the farther on I of tiie room, 
lucii by inch she opened the dour more widely, ’a ok oui 


124 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


forward, and checked herself. A sound, just audible at the far 
end of the conservatory, had caught her ear. 

She listened — satisfied herself that she was not mistaken — 
and, drawing back with a frown of displeasure, softly closed 
the door again, so as to hide herself from view. The sound 
that had disturbed her was the distant murmur of men’s voices 
(apparently two in number) talking together in lowered tones, 
at the garden entrance to the conservatory. 

Who were the men 1 and what would they do next 1 They 
might do one of two things : they might enter the drawing- 
room, or they might withdraw again by way of the garden. 
Kneeling behind the door, with her ear at the keyhole, Grace 
Koseberry waited the event. 


THEY MEET AGAIN. 


125 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THEY MEET AGAIN. 

& BSORBED in herself, Mercy failed to notice the open- 
ing door or to hear the murmur of voices in the con- 
servatory. 

The one terrible* necessity which had been present to her 
mind at intervals for a week past, was confronting her at that 
moment. She owed to Grace Roseberry the tardy justice of 
owning the truth. The longer her confession was delayed, the 
more cruelly she was injuring the woman whom she had robbed 
of her identity — the friendless woman who had neither witnesses 
nor papers to produce, who was powerless to right her own 
wrong. Keenly as she felt this, Mercy failed nevertheless to 
conquer the horror that shook her when she thought of the 
impending avowal. Day followed day, and still she shrank 
from the unendurable ordeal of confession — as she was shrink- 
ing from it now ! 

Was it fear for herself that closed her lips? 

She trembled — as any human being in her place must have 
trembled — at the bare idea of finding herself thrown backagain 
on the world, which had no place in it and no hope in it for 
her. But she could have overcome that terror — she could have 
resigned herself to that doom. 

No ! it was not the fear of the confession itself, or the fear of 
the consequences which must follow it, that still held her silent. 
The horror that daunted her was the horror of owning to 
Horace and to Lady Janet that she had cheated them out of 
their love. 

Every day, Lady Janet was kinder and kinder. Every day 
Horace was fonder and fonder of her. How could she confess 
to Lady Janet ? how could she own to Horace, that she had im- 
posed upon him ? “I can’t do it. They are so good to me — I 
can’t do it ! ” In that hopeless way it had ended during the 


126 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


seven days that had gone by. In that hopeless way it ended 
again now. 


The mnrmiir of the two voices at the further end of the 
conservatory ceased. The billiard-room door opened again 
Llowly, by an inch at a time. 

]\lercy .still kept her place, unconscious of the events that 
were passing round her. Sinking under the hard stress laid 
on it, her mind had drifted little by little into a new train of 
thought. For the first time, she found the courage to question 
the future in a new way. Supposing her confession to have 
been made, or supposing the woman whom she had personated 
to have discovered the means of exposing the fraud, what ad- 
x antage, she now asked herself, would Miss E-oseberry derive 
from Mercy Merrick’s disgrace ? 

Could Lady Janet transfer to the woman who was really her 
relative by marriage the affection which she had given to the 
woman wdio had pretended to be her relative ? No ! all the 
right in the world would not put the true Grace into the false 
Grace’s vacant place. Th.e qualities by which Mercy had won 
Lady Janet’s love \vere the qualities which were Mercy’s own. 
Lady Janet could do rigid justice — but hers was not the heart 
to give itself to a stranger (and to give itself unreservedly) a 
second time. Grace Koseberry would be formally acknowledj'ed 
— and there it would end. 

AVas there hope in this new vie\v ? 

Yes ! There was the false hope of making the inevitable 
atonement by some other means than by the confession of the 
fraud. 

What had Grace Eoseberry actually lost by the wrong done 
to her 1 She had lost the salary of Lady Janet’s “ companion 
and reader.” Say that she wainted money, Mercy had her 
savings I'rom the generous allowance made to her by Lady 
Janet; Mercy could offer money. Or say that she tv anted 
employment, Mercy’s interest with Lady Janet could offer em- 
})loyment, could offer anything Grace might ask for, if she 
would only come to terms. 

Invigorated by the new hope, Mercy rose excitedly, -weary 
of inaction in the empty room. She, who but a few minute's 
since, bad shuddered at the thought of their meeting again, was 


THEY yiEET AGAIN. 


127 


now eager to devise a means of finding her way privately to 
an interview witli Crace. It should be done without loss of 
time — on that very dny, if possible ; by the next day at latest. 
She looked arouiul her mechanically, pondering how to reach 
the end in vie w. Her eyes rested by chance on the door of the 
billiard-room. 

Was it fancy ? or did she really see the door, first open a 
little — then suddenly and softly close again. 

Was it fancy] or did she really hear, at the same moment, a 
sound behind her as of {)ersons speaking in the conservatory ] 

She paused : and, looking back in that direction, listened in- 
tentl3A The sound — if she had really heard it — was no longer 
audible. She advanced towards the billiard-room to set her 
first doubt at rest. She stretched out her hand to open the door 
— when the voices (recognisable now as the voices of two men) 
caught her car once more. 

This time, she was able to distinguish the words that were 
spoken. 

“ Any further orders, sir?” inquired one of the men. 

“ Nothing more,’’ replied the other. 

Mercy started, and faintly flushed, as the second voice 
answered the first. She stood irresolute close to the billiard- 
room, hesitating what to do next. 

After an interval, the second voice made itself heard again, 
advancing nearer to the dining-room ; “ Are j'ou there, aunt?” 
it asked, cautiously. There was a moment’s pause. Then the 
voice spoke for the third time, sounding louder and nearer. 
“Are you there]” it reiterated, “ I have something to tell you.” 
Mercy summoned her resolution, and answered, “ Lady Janet is 
not here.” She turned, as she spoke, towards the conservatory 
door, and confronted, on the threshold, Julian Gray. 

They looked at one another without exchanging a word on 
either side. The situation — for widely different reasons — Avas 
equally embarrassing to both of them. 

There — as Julian saw her — was the woman forbidden to 
him, the woman whom he loved. 

There — as Mercy saw him — was the man whom she dreaded ; 
the man whose actions (as she interpreted them) proved that 
he suspected her. 

On the surface of it, the incidents which had marked their 


128 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


first meeting were now exactly repeated, with the one differ- 
ence, that the impulse t» withdraw, this time appeared to be 
on the man’s side and not on the woman’s. It was Mercy who 
spoke first. 

“ Did you expect to find Lady Janet here? ” she asked con- 
strainedly. 

He answered, on his part, more constrainedly still. 

“ It doesn’t matter,” he said, “another time will do.” 

He drew back as he made the reply. She advanced desper- 
ately, with the deliberate intention of detaining him by speak- 
ing again. 

The attempt which he had made to withdraw, the constraint 
in his manner when he had answered, had instantly confirmed 
her in the false conviction that he, and he alone, had guessed 
the truth ! If she was right — if he had secretly made dis- 
coveries abroad which placed her entirely at his mercy — the 
attempt to induce Grace to consent to a compromise with her, 
would be manifestly useless. Her first and foremost interest 
now, was to find out how she really stood in the estimation of 
Julian Gray. In a terror of suspense, that turned her cold 
from head to foot, she stopped him on his way out, and spoke 
to him with the piteous counterfeit of a smile. 

“ Lady Janet is receiving some visitors,” she said. ** If you 
will wait here, she will be back directly.” 

The effort of hiding her agitation from him had brought 
a passing colour into her cheeks. Worn and wasted as she 
was, the spell of her beauty was strong enough to hold him 
against his own will. All that he had to tell Lady J anet was 
that he had met one of the gardeners in the conservatory, and had 
cautioned him as well as the lodge-keeper. It would have been 
easy to write this, and to send the note to his aunt on quitting 
the house. For the sake of his own peace of mind, for the 
sake of his duty to Horace, he was doubly bound to make the 
first polite excuse that occurred to him, and to leave her as he 
had found her, alone in the room. He made the attempt, and 
hesitated. Despising himself for doing it, he allowed himself 
to look at her. Their eyes met.. Julian stepped ii.to the din- 
ing-room. 

“ If I am not in the wa}^,” he said confusedly, “ I will wait, 
as you kindly propose.” 


THEY MEET AGAIN. 


129 


She noticed his embarrassment ; she saw that he was strongly- 
restraining himself from looking at her again. Her own eyes 
dropped to the ground as she made the discovery. Her speech 
failed her ; her heart throbbed faster and faster. 

“ If I look at him again ” (was the thought in ke?' mind) “ I 
shall fall at his feet and tell him all that I have done I ” 

“ If I look at her again ” (was the thought in kis mind) “ I 
shall fall at her feet and own that I am in love with her ! ” 

With downcast eyes he placed a chair for her. With down- 
cast eyes she bowed to him and took it. A dead silence fol- 
lowed. Never was any human misunderstanding more intri- 
cately complete than the misunderstanding which had now esta- 
blished itself between those two. 

Mercy’s work-basket was near her. She took it, and gained 
time for composing herself by pretending to arrange the co- 
loured wools. He stood behind her chair, looking at the 
graceful turn of her head, looking at the rich masses of her 
hair. He reviled himself as the weakest of men^ as the 
falsest of friends, for still remaining near her — and yet he 
remained. 

The silence continued. The billiard-room door opened again 
noiselessly. The face of the listening woman appeared stealth- 
ily behind it. 

At the same moment Mercy roused herself and spoke : 
“Won’t you sit down?” she said, softly; still not looking 
round at him ; still busy with her basket of wools. 

He turned to get a chair — turned so quickly that he saw the 
billiard-room door move, as Grace Roseberry closed it again. 

“ Is there any one in that room ? ” he asked, addressing 
Mercy. 

“ I don’t know,” she answered. “ I thought I saw the door 
open and shut again a little while ago.” 

He advanced at once to look into the room. As he did so, 
Mercy dropped one of her balls of wool. He stopped to pick 
it up for her — then threw open the door and looked into the 
billiard-room. It was empty. 

Had some person been listening, and had that person re- 
treated in time to escape discovery ? The open door of the 
smoking-room showed that room also to be empty. A third 
door was open— the door of the side-hall, leading into the 

I 


130 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


grounds. Julian closed and locked it, and returned to the 
dining-room. 

“ I can only suppose,” he said to Mercy, “ that the billiard- 
room door was not properly shut, and that the draught of air 
from the hall must have moved it.” 

She accepted the explanation in silence. He was, to all ap- 
pearance, not quite satisfied with it himself. For a moment or 
two he looked about him uneasily. Then the old fascination 
fastened its hold on him again. Once more he looked at the 
.^graceful turn of her head, at the rich masses of her hair. The 
courage to put the critical question to him, now that she had 
lured him into remaining in the room, was still a courage that 
failed her. She remained as busy as ever with her work — too 
busy to look at him ; too busy to speak to him. The silence 
became unendurable. He broke it by making a commonplace 
inquiry after her health. 

“ I am well enough to be ashamed of the anxiety I have 
caused and the trouble I have given,” she answered. To-day 
I have got downstairs for the first time. I am trying to do a 
little work.” She looked into the basket. The various speci- 
mens of wool in it were partly in balls and partly in loose' 
skeins. The skeins were mixed and tangled. “ Here is sad 
confusion ! ” she exclaimed, timidly, with a faint smile. “ flow 
am I to set it right again 1 ” 

“ Let me help you,” said Julian. 

“You ! ” 

“ Why not 1 ” he asked, with a momentary return of the 
quaint humour which she remembered so well. “You forget 
that I am a curate. Curates are privileged to make themselves 
useful to young ladies. Let me try.” 

He took a stool at her feet, and set himself to unravel one of 
the tangled skeins. In a minute the wool was stretched on 
his hands, and the loose end was ready for Mercy to wind. 
There was something in the trivial action, and in the homely 
attention that it implied, which in some degree quieted her 
fear of him. She began to roll the wool off his hands into a 
ball. Thus occupied, she said the daring words which were to 
lead him little by little into betraying his suspicions, if he did 
indeed suspect the truth. 


THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 


ISl 


CHAPTER XVIL 


THE GUARDIAN ANGEL 


OU were here when I fainted, were you not Mercy 
began. “ You must think me a sad coward, even fo 
a woman.” 

He shook his head. “ I am far from thinking that,” he re- 
plied. “ No courage could have sustained the shock which fell 
on you. I don’t wonder that you fainted. I don’t wonder 
that you have been ill.” 

She paused in rolling up the ball of wool. What did those 
words of unexpected sympathy mean 1 Was he laying a trap 
for her ! Urged by that serious doubt, she questioned him 
more boldly. 

“ Horace tells me you have been abroad,” she said. “ Did 
you enjoy your holiday ? ” 

“ It was no holiday. I went abroad because I thought it 
right to make certain inquiries ” He stopped there, un- 

willing to return to a subject that was painful to her. 

Her voice sank, her fingers trembled round the ball of wool — 
but she managed to go on, 

“ Did you arrive at any results ? ” she asked. 

“At no results worth mentioning.” 

“ The caution of that reply renewed her worst suspicions of 
him. In sheer despair, she spoke out plainly. 

“ I want to know your opinion ” she began. 

“Gently!” said JuUan. “ You are entangling the wool 
again.” 

“ I want to know your opinion of the person who so terribly 
frightened me. Do you think her ” 

“ Do I think her — what ^ ’ 

“ Do you think her an adventuress ? ” 

(As she said those words the branches of a shrub in the con- 
jervatory were noiselessly parted by a hand in a black glove. 
The face of Grace Roseberry appeared dimly behind the leaves 


132 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


Undiscovered, she had escaped from the billiard-room, and had 
stolen her way into the conservatory as the safer hiding place of 
the two. Behind the shrub she could see as well as listen. 
Behind the shrub she waited as patiently as ever.) 

“ I take a more merciful view,” Julian answered. “I be- 
lieve she is acting under a delusion. I don’t blame her : I pity 
her.” 

You pity her As Mercy repeated the words, she tore 
off Julian’s hands the last few lengths of wool left, and threw 
the imperfectly-wound skein back into the basket. “ Does that 
mean,” she resumed abruptly, “ that you believe her ? ” 

Julian rose from his seat, and looked at Mercy in astonish- 
ment, 

“ Good heavens. Miss Roseberry ! what put such an idea as 
that into your head 1 ” 

“I am little better than a stranger to you,” she rejoined, 
with an effort to assume a jesting tone. “You met that per- 
son before you met with me. It is not so very far from pitying 
her to believing her. How could I feel sure that you might 
not suspect me 1 ” 

“ Suspect you /” he exclaimed, “ You don’t know how you 
distress, how you shock me. Suspect you ! The bare idea of 
it never entered my mind. The man doesn’t live who trusts 
you more implicitly, who believes in you more devotedly, than 
I do.” 

His eyes, his voice, his manner, all told her that those words 
came from the heart. She contrasted his generous confidence 
in her (the confidence of which she was unworthy) with her 
ungracious distrust of him. Not only had she wronged Grace 
Roseberry — she had wronged Julian Gray. Could she deceive 
him as she had deceived the others 1 Could she meanly accept 
that implicit trust, that devoted belief ? Never had she felt 
the base submissions which her own imposture condemned her 
to undergo with a loathing of them so overwhelming as the 
loathing that she felt now. In horror of herself, she turned 
her head aside in silence, and shrank from meeting his eye. He 
noticed the movement, placing his own interpietation on it. 
Advancing closer, he asked anxiously if he had offended her ? 

“You don’t know how your confidence touches me,*' she 
said, without looking up. “ You little think how keenly I feel 
your kindness.” 


THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 


133 


She checked herself abruptly. Her fine tact warned l/r 
that she was speaking too warmly — that the expression of her 
gratitude might strike him as being strangely exaggerated. She 
handed him her work-basket, before he could speak again. 

“ Will you put it away for me she asked in her quieter 
tones. “ I don’t feel able to work just now.” 

His back was turned on her for a moment, while he placed 
the basket on a side table. In that moment, her mind advanced 
at a bound from present to future. Accident might one day 
put the true Grace in possession of the proof that she needed, 
and might reveal the false Grace to him in the identity that 
was her own. What would he think of her then 1 Could she 
make him tell her, without betraying herself 1 She determined 
to try. 

Children are notoriously insatiable if you once answer their 
questions, and women are nearly as bad,” she said, when Julian 
returned to her. “ Will your patience hold out if I go back for 
the third time to the person whom we have been speaking oi.** 
Try me,” he answered, with a smile. 

** Suppose you had not taken your merciful view of her ] ” 

“Yes?” 

“ Suppose you believed that she was wickedly bent on de^ 
ceiving others for a purpose of her own — would you not shrink 
from such a woman in horror and disgust ? ” 

“ God forbid that I should shrink from any human creature 1” 
he answered earnestly. “ Who among us has a right to d« 
that?” 

She hardly dared trust herself to believe him. “You would 
still pity her ? ” she persisted, “ and still feel for her ? ” 

“With all my heart.” 

“ Oh, how good you are 1 ” 

He held up his hand in warning. The tones of his voice 
deepened ; the lustre of his eyes brightened. She had stirred 
in the depths of that great heart the faith in which the man 
lived-— the steady principle which guided his modest and noble 
life. 

“ No ! ” he cried. “ Don’t say that ! Say that I try to love 
my neighbour as myself Who but a Pharisee can believe he 
is better than another ? The best among us to-day may, but for 
th\ mercy of God, be the worst among us to-morrow. The 


1S4 


THE NEW MAGDALEN 


trike Christian virtue is the virtue which never despairs of a 
fellow-creature. The true Christian faith believes in Man as 
well as in God. Frail and fallen as we are, we can rise on the 
wings of repentance from earth to heaven. Humanity is sacred. 
Humanity has its immortal destiny. Who shall dare to say to 
man or woman, ‘ There is no hope in you ? ’ Who shall dare 
say the work is all vile, when that work bears on it the stamp 
of the Creator’s hand 1 ” 

He turned away for a moment, struggling with the emotion 
which she had roused in him. 

Her eyes, as they followed him, lighted with a momentary 
enthusiasm — then sank wearily in the vain regret which comes 
too late. Ah ! if he could have been her friend and her adviser 
on the fatal day when she first turned her steps towards Mable- 
thorpe House ! She sighed deeply as the hopeless aspiration 
wrung her heart. He heard the sigh ; and turning again, looked 
at her with a new interest in his face. 

“ Miss Roseberry,” he said. 

She was still absorbed in the bitter memories of the past : she 
failed to hear him. 

Miss Roseberry,” he repeated, approaching her. 

She looked at him with a start. 

** May I venture to ask you something 1 ** 

She shrank at the question. 

“ Don’t suppose I am speaking out of mere curiosity,” he 
went on. And pray don’t answer me, unless you can answer 
without betraying any confidence which may have been placed 
in you.” 

“ Confidence ! ” she repeated. What confidence do you 
mean 1 ” 

“ It has just struck me that you might have felt more than a 
common interest in the questions which you put to me a moment 
since,” he answered. “ Were you by any chance speaking of 
some unhappy woman — not the person who frightened you, 
of course — but of some other woman whom you know ? ” 

Her head sank slowly on her bosom. He had plainly no sus- 
picion that she had been speaking of herself : his tone and 
manner both answered for it that his belief in her was as 
strong as ever. Still those last words made her tremble ; she 
could not trust herself to reply to them. -ee 


THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 


m 


He accepted the bending of her head as a reply, 

“ Are you interested in her 1” he asked next. 

She faintly answered this time. “ Yes.” 

‘‘ Have you encouraged her ?” 

“ I have not dared to encourage her.” 

His face lit up suddenly with enthusiasm, “ Go to her,” 
he said, “ and let me go with you and help you 1” 

The answer came faintly and mournfully. “ She has sunk 
too low for that !” 

He interrupted her with a gesture of impatience. 

“ What has she done 

“ She has deceived — basely deceived — innocent people who 
trusted her. She has wronged — cruelly wronged — another 
woman.” 

For the first time, Julian seated himself at her side. The 
interest that was now, roused in him was an interest above 
reproach. He could speak to Mercy without restraint ; he 
could look at Mercy with a pure heart. 

“ You judge her very harshly,” he said. “ Do you know 
now she may have been tried and tempted ?” 

There was no answer. 

“ Tell me,” he went on, ** is the person whom she has in 
jured still living 1” 

“ If the person is still living, she may atone for the wrong. 
The time may come when this sinner, too, may win our pardon 
and deserve our respect.” 

“ Could you respect her ?” Mercy asked sadly. “Can such a 
mind as yours understand what she has gone through ?” 

A smile, kind and momentary, brightened his attentive face. 

“ You forget my melancholy experience,” he answered. 
“Young as I am, I have seen more than most men of 
women who have sinned and suffered. Even after the little 
that you have told me, I think I can put myself in her place. 
I can well understand, for instance that she may have been 
tempted beyond human resistance. Am I right 1” 

“You are right.” 

“ She may have had nobody near at the time to advise her, 
to warn her, to save her. Is that true V* 

“ It is true,” 


136 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


‘‘ Tempted and friendless, self-abandoned to the evil impulse 
of the moment, this woman may have committed herself head- 
long to the act which she now vainly repents. She may long 
to make atonement, and may not know how to begin. All her 
energies may be crushed under the despair and horror of her- 
self, out of which the truest repentance grows. Is such a 
woman as this, all wicked, all vile 1 I deny it ! She may 
have a noble nature ; and she may show it nobly yet. Give 
her the opportunity she needs— and our fallen fellow-creature 
may take her place again amon^ the best of us ; honoured, 
blameless, happy once more !” 

Mercy’s eyes, resting eagerly on him while he was speaking, 
dropped again desponding when he had done. 

“ There is no such future as that,” she answered, “ for the 
woman whom I am thinking of. She has lost her opportunity. 
She has done with hope.” 

Julian gravely considered with himself for a moment. 

Let us understand each other,” he said. “ She has com- 
mitted an act of deception to the injury of another woman. 
Was that what you told me V 

“ Yes.” 

“ And she has gained something to her own advantage by 
the act 

« Yes.” 

“ Is she threatened with discovery 

“ She is safe from discovery — for the present, at least.' 

“ Safe as long as she closes her lips V* 

“ As long as she closes her lips.” 

“ There is her opportunity !” cried Julian. “ Her future 
is before her. She has not done with hope !” 

With clasped hands, in breathless suspense, Mercy looked at 
that inspiriting face, and listened to those golden words. 

“ Explain yourself,” she said. “ Tell her, through me, what 
she must do.” 

“ Let her own the truth,” answered Julian, without the 
base fear of discovery to drive her to it. Let her do justice to 
the woman whom she has wronged, while that woman is still 
powerless to expose her. Let her sacrifice everything that slie 
has gained by the fraud to the sacred duty of atonement, ii 
she can do that — for conscience sake and for pity’s sake — to 


THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 


187 


her own prejudice, to her own shame, to her own loss — then 
her repentance has nobly revealed the noble nature that is in 
her ; then she is a woman to be trusted, respected, beloved ! 
If I saw the Pharisees and Fanatics of this lower earth passing 
her by in contempt, I would hold out my hand to her before 
them all. I would say to her in her solitude and her affliction, 

* Kise, poor wounded heart ! Beautiful, purified soul, God’s 
angels rejoice over you ! Take your place among the noblest 
of God’s creatures !’ ” 

In those last sentences, he unconsciously repeated the lan- 
guage in which he had spoken, years since, to his congrega- 
tion in the Chapel of the Refuge. With tenfold power and 
tenfold persuasion, they now found their way again to Mercy’s 
heart. Softly, suddenly, mysteriously, a change passed over 
her. Her troubled face grew beautifully still. The shifting 
light of terror and suspense vanished from her grand grey 
eyes, and left in them the steady inner glow of a high and 
pure resolve. 

There was a moment of silence between them. They both 
had need of silence. Julian was the first to speak again. 

“ Have I satisfied you that her opportunity is still before 
her V’ he asked. “ Do you feel, as I feel, that she has nol done 
with hope 1” 

“ You have satisfied me that the world holds no truer friend 
to her than you,” Mercy answered gently and gratefully. 
“ She shall prove herself worthy of your generous confidence in 
her. She shall show you yet, that you have not spoken in 
vain.” 

Still inevitably failing to understand her, he led the way to 
the door. 

“ Don’t waste the precious time,” he said. Don’t leave 
her cruelly to herself. If you. can’t go to her, let me go as your 
messenger, in your place. 

She stopped him by a gesture. He took a step back into the 
room, and paused ; observing with surprise that she made 
attempt to move from the . chair that she occupied. 

“ Stay here,” she said to him in suddenly-altered tones. 

“ Rardon me,” he rejoined, “ I don’t understand you.” 

** You will understand me directly. Give me a little time.” 

H« still lingered near the door, with his eyes fixed inciiur- 


138 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


ingly on her. A man of a lower nature than his, or a man be- 
lieving in Mercy less devotedly than he believed, would now 
have felt his first suspicion of her. Julian was as far as ever 
from suspecting her, even yet. 

‘‘ Do you wish to be alone 1” he asked considerately. “ Shall 
I leave you for awhile and return again V 

She looked up with a start of terror. “ Leave me f’ she re- 
peated, and suddenly checked herself on the point of saying 
more. Nearly half the length of the room divided them from 
each other. The words which she was longing to say were 
words that would never pass her lips, unless she could see some 
encouragement in his face. ‘‘No !” she cried out to him on a 
sudden, in her sore need, “ don’t leave me ! Come back to 
me ! ” 

He obeyed her in silence. In silence, on her side, she pointed 
to the chair near her. He took it. She looked at him, and 
checked herself again ; resolute to make her terrible confession, 
yet still hesitating how to begin. Her woman’s instinct whis- 
pered to her, “ Find courage in his touch !” She said to him, 
simply and artlessly said to him, “ Givje me encouragement. 
Give me strength. Let me take your hand.” He neither 
answered nor moved. His mind seemed to have become sud- 
denly preoccupied ; his eyes rested on her vacantly. He was 
on the brink of discovering her secret ; in another instant he 
would have found his way to the truth. In that instant, inno- 
cently as his sister might have taken it, she took his hand. 
The soft clasp of her fingers, clinging round his, roused his 
senses, fired his passion for her, swept out of his mind the pure 
aspirations which had filled it but the moment before, paralysed 
his perception when it was just penetrating the mystery of her 
disturbed manner and her strange words. All the man in him 
trembled under the rapture of her touch. But the thought of 
Horace was still present to him : his hand lay passive in hers ; 
his eyes looked uneasily away from her. 

She innocently strengthened her clasp of his hand. She in- 
nocently said to him, “ Don’t look away from me. Your eyes 
give me courage.” 

His hand returned the pressure of hers. He tasted to the 
full the delicious joy of looking at her. She had broken down 
his last reserves of self-control. The thought of Horace, the 


THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 


139 


sense of honour, became obscured in him. In a moment more 
he might have said the words which he would have deplored 
for the rest of his life, if she had not stopped him by speaking 
first. “ I have more to say to you,” she resumed abruptly ; 
feeling the animating resolution to lay her heart bear before 
him at last ; “ more, far more, than I have said yet. Generous, 
merciful friend, let me say it here r 

She attempted to throw herself on her knees at his feet. He 
sprang from his seat and checked her, holding her with both 
his hands, raising her as he rose himself. In the words which 
had just escaped her, in the startling action which had accom- 
panied them, the truth burst on him. The guilty woman she 
had spoken of was herself ! ^ 

While she was almost in his arms, while her bosom was just 
touching his, before a word more had passed his lips or hers, 
the library door opened. 

Lady Janet Hoy entered the room. 


14)0 


THE KEW MAGDALEN. 


CHAPTEE XVIIL 


THE SEARCH IN THE GROUNDS. 


EACE Eoseberry, still listening in the conservatory, saw 
the door open, and recognised the mistress of the house. 
She softly drew back and placed herself in safer hiding, 
beyond the range of view from the dining-room. 

Lady Janet advanced no further than the threshold. She 
stood there and looked at her nephew and her adopted daughter 
in stern silence. 

Mercy dropped into the chair at her side. Julian kept his 
place by her. His mind was still stunned by the discovery that 
had burst on it ; his eyes still rested on her in a mute terror 
of inquiry. He was as completely absorbed in the one act of 
looking at her as if they had been still alone together in the 
room. 

Lady Janet was the first of the three who spoke. She ad- 
dressed herself to her nephew. 

“You were right, Mr Julian Gray,” she said with her bit- 
terest emphasis of tone and ma,nner. “You ought to have 
found nobody in this room on your return but me. I detain 
you no longer. You are free to leave my house.” 

Julian looked round at his aunt. She was pointing to the 
door. In the excited state of his sensibilities at that moment, 
the action stung him to the quick. He answered without his 
customary consideration for his aunt’s age and his aunt’s posi- 
tion towards him : 

“ You apparently forget. Lady Janet, that you are not speak- 
ing to one of your footmen,” he said. “ There are serious rea- 
sons (of which you know nothing) for my remaining in your 
house a little longer. You may rely upon my trespassing on 
your hospitality as short a time as possible.” 

He turned again to Mercy as he said those words, and sur- 
prised her timidly looking up at him. In the instant when 
their eyes met, the tumult of emotions struggling in him be* 


THE SEARCH IN THE GROUNDS. 


141 


came suddenly stilled. Sorrow for her — compassionating sor- 
row — rose in the new calm and filled his heart. Now, and 
now only, he could read in the wasted and noble face how she 
had suffered. The pity which he had felt for the unnamed 
woman grew to a tenfold pity for her. The faith which he had 
professed — honestly professed — in the better nature of the un- 
named woman strengthened into a tenfold faith in her. He 
addressed himself again to his aunt in a gentler tone. “ This 
lady,” he resumed, “ has something to say to me in private 
which she has not said yet. That is my reason and my apo- 
logy for not immediately leaving the house.” 

Still under the impression of what she had seen on entering 
the room. Lady Janet looked at him in angry amazement. 
Was Julian actually ignoring Horace Holmcroft’s claims, in 
the presence of Horace Holmcroft’s betrothed wife. She ap- 
pealed to her adopted daughter. “ Grace ! ” she exclaimed, 
“ have you heard him 1 Have you nothing to say ? Must I 
remind you ” 

She stopped. For the first time in Lady Janet’s experience 
of her young companion, she found herself speaking to ears 
that were deaf to her. Mercy was incapable of listening. 
Julian’s eyes had told her that Julian understood her at last ! 

Lady Janet turned to her nephew once more, and addressed 
him in the hardest words that she had ever spoken to her sis- 
ter’s son : 

If you have any sense of decency,” she said — “ I say no- 
thing of a sense of honour — you will leave this house, and your 
acquaintance with that lady will end here. Spare me your 
protests and excuses ; I can place but one interpretation on 
what I saw when I opened that door.” 

“You entirely misunderstand what you saw when you opened 
that door,” J ulian answered quietly. 

“ Perhaps I misunderstand the confession which you made 
to me not an hour ago 1 ” retorted Lady Janet. 

Julian cast a look of alarm at Mercy. “ Don’t speak of it 1 ” 
he said, in a whisper. “ She might hear you.” 

“ Do you mean to say she doesn’t know you are in love with 
herl” 

“ Thank God she has not the faintest suspicion of it ! ” 

There was no mistaking the earnestness with which he made 


142 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


that reply. It proved his innocence as nothing else could have 
proved it. Lady Janet drew back a step — utterly bewildered ; 
completely at a loss what to say or what to do next- 

The silence that followed was broken by a knock at the ^ 
library door. The man-servant — with news, and bad news, 
legibly written in his disturbed face and manner — entered the 
room. 

In the nervous irritability of the moment, Lady Janet re- 
sented the servant’s appearance as a positive offence on the 
part of the harmless man. Who sent for you ? ” she asked 
sharply. “ What do you mean by interrupting us ? ” 

The servant made his excuses in an oddly bewildered man- 
ner. 

“ I beg your ladyship’s pardon. I wished to take the liberty 
— I wanted to speak to Mr. Julian Gray.” 

“ What is it 1 ” asked Julian. 

The man looked uneasily at Lady Janet, hesitated, and 
glanced at the door as if he wished himself well out of the 
room again. 

“ 1 hardly know if I can tell you, sir, before her ladyship,’' 
he answered. 

Lady Janet instantly penetrated the secret of her servant’s 
hesitation. 

“ I know what has happened,” she said sharply ; “ that 
abominable woman has found her way here again. Am I 
right ? ” 

The man’s eyes helplessly consulted Julian. 

“ Yes? or no ?” cried Lady Janet, imperatively, 

“ Yes, my lady.” 

Julian at once assumed the duty of asking the necessary 
questions. 

“ Where is she ? ” he began. 

“ Somewhere in the grounds, as we suppose, sir.” 

“ Did you see her ? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Who saw her ? ” 

“ The lodge-keeper’s wife.” 

This looked serious. The lodge-keeper’s wife had been pre- 
sent while Julian gave his instructions to her husband. She 


THE SEARCH IN THE GROUNDS. 143 

was not likely to have mistaken the identity of the person 
whom she had discovered. 

“ How long since 1 ” Julian asked next, 

‘‘Not very long, sir.” 

“ Be more particular. How long I ” ■ 

“ I didn’t hear, sir.” 

“ Did the lodge-keeper’s wife speak to the person when she 
saw her 1 ” 

■- “ No, sir : she didn’t get the chance, as I understand it. She 
is a stout woman, if you remember. The other was too quick 
for her — discovered her, sir ; and (as the saying is) gave her 
the slip.” 

“ In what part of the grounds did this happen ? ” 

The servant pointed in the direction of the side-hall. “ In 
that part, sir. Either in the Dutch garden or the shrubbery. 
I am not sure which.” 

It was plain, by this time, that the man’s information was too 
imperfect to be practically of any use. Julian asked If the 
lodge-keeper’s wife was in the house. 

“ No, sir. Her husband has gone out to search the grounds 
in her place, and she is minding the gate. They sent their boy 
with the message. From what I can make out from the lad, 
they would be thankful if they could get a word more of advice 
from you, sir.” 

Julian reflected fora moment. 

So far as he could estimate them, the probabilities were, that 
the stranger from Mannheim had already made her way into 
the house ; that she had been listening in the billiard-room : 
that she had found time enough to escape him on his approach- 
ing to open the door ; and that she was now (in the servant’s 
phrase) “ somewhere in the grounds,” after eluding the pur- 
suit of the lodge-keeper’s wife. 

The matter was serious. Any mistake in dealing with it 
might lead to very painful results. 

If Julian had correctly anticipated the nature of the confes- 
sion which Mercy had been on the point of addressing to him, 
the person whom he had been the means of introducing into the 
house, was — what she had vainly asserted herself to be — no 
other than the true Grace Eoseberry. 

Taking this for granted, it was of the utmost importance that 


144l THE NEW MAGDALEN. 

he should speak to Grace privately, before she committed her- 
self to any rashly-renewed assertion of her claims, and before 
she could gain access to Lady Janet’s adopted daughter. The 
landlady at her lodgings had already warned him that the ob- 
ject which she held steadily in view was to find her way to 
“ Miss Roseberry,” when Lady Janet was not present to take 
her part, and when no gentlemen were at hand to protect her. 
“ Only let me meet her face to face” (she had said), “ and I 
will make her confess herself the impostor that she is ! ” As 
matters now stood, it was impossible to estimate too seriously 
the mischief which might ensue from such a meeting as this. 
Everything' now depended on Julian’s skilful management of an 
exasperated woman ; and nobody, at that moment, knew where 
the woman was. 

In this position of affairs, as Julian understood it, there 
seemed to be no other alternative than to make his enquiries 
instantly at the lodge, and then to direct the search in person. 

He looked towards Mercy’s chair as he arrived at this reso- 
lution. It was at a cruel sacrifice of his own anxieties and his 
own wishes that he deferred continuing the conversation with 
her, from the critical point at which Lady Janet’s appearance 
had interrupted it. 

Mercy had risen while he had been questioning the servant. 
The attention which she had failed to accord to Avhat had 
passed between his aunt and himself, she had given to the im- 
perfect statement which he had extracted from the man. Her 
face plainly Showed that she had listened as eagerly as Lady 
Janet had listened ; with this remarkable difference between 
them, that Lady Janet looked frightened, and that Lady Janet’s 
companion showed no signs of alarm. She appeared to be in- 
terested ; perhaps anxious — nothing more. 

J ulian spoke a parting word to his aunt. 

Pray compose yourself,” he said. “ I have little doubt, 
when I can learn the particulars, that we shall easily find this 
person in the grounds. There is no reason to be uneasy. I 
am going to superintend the search myself. I will return to 
you as soon as possible.” 

Lady Janet listened absently. There was a certain expres- 
sion in her eyes which suggested to Julian that her. mind was 
busy with some project of its own. He stopped as he passed 


THE SEARCH IN THE GROUNDS. 


145 


Mercy, on his way out by the billiard-room door. It cost him 
a hard effort to control the contending emotions, which the 
mere act of looking at her now awakened in him. llis heart 
Deat fast, his voice sank low, as he spoke to her : 

You shall see me again,^’ he said. “ I never was more in 
earnest in promising you my truest help and sympathy than 
I am now.” 

She understood him. Her bosom heaved painfully ; her eyes 
fell to the ground — she made no reply. The tears rose in 
J ulian’s eyes as he looked at her. He hurriedly left the room. 

When he turned to close the billiard-room door, he heard 
Lady Janet say, ** I will be with you again in a moment, 
Grace ; don’t go away.” 

Interpreting these words as meaning that his aunt had some 
business of her own to attend to in the library, he shut the 
door. 

He had just advanced into the smoking-room beyond, when 
he thought he heard the door opened again. He turned round. 
Lady Janet had followed him. 

“ Do you wish to speak to me ? ” he asked. 

** I want something of you,” Lady Janet answered, ** before 
you go.” 

“ What is it ? ” 

“ Your card.” 

“My card?” 

“You have just told me not to be uneasy,” said the old lady. 
‘ I am uneasy, for all that. I don’t feel as sure as you do that 
'"•his woman really is in the grounds. She may be lurking 
somewhere in the house, and she may appear when your back 
is turned. Remember what you told me.” 

Julian understood the allusion. He made no reply. 

“ The people at the police-station close by,” pursued Lady 
Janet, “ have instructions to send an experienced man, in plain 
clothes, to any address indicated on your card the moment, they 
receive it. That is what you told me. For Grace’s protection, 
I want your card before you leave us.” 

It was impossible for Julian to mention the reasons which 
now forbade him to make use of his own precautions-— in the 
very face of the emergency which they had been especially in 
tended to meet. How could he declare the true Grace Rose- 
J 


146 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


berry to be mad ? How could lie give the true Grace Rose* 
berry into custody ? On the other hand, he had personally 
pledged himself (when the circumstances appeared to require 
it) to place the means of legal protection from insult and an- 
noyance at his aunt’s disposal. And now, there stood Lady 
Janet, unaccustomed to have her wishes disregarded by any- 
body, with her hand extended, waiting for the card ! 

What was to be done 1 The one way out of the difficulty 
appeared to be to submit for the moment. If he succeeded in 
discovering the missing woman, he could easily take care that 
she should be subjected to no needless indignity. If she con* 
trived to slip into the house in his absence, he could provide 
against that contingency by sending a second card privately to 
the police-station, forbidding the officer to stir in the affair 
until he had received further orders. Julian made one stipu- 
lation only, before he handed his card to his aunt. 

“ You will not use this, I am sure, without positive and 
pressing necessity,” he said. “ But I must make one condition. 
Promise me to keep my plan for communicating with the police 
a strict secret ” 

“ A strict secret from Grace ? ” interposed Lady Janet. 
(Julian bowed.) “ Do you suppose I want to frighten her 1 
Do you think I have not had anxiety enough about her already ] 
Of course, I shall keep it a secret from Grace ! ” 

Reassured on this point, J ulian hastened out into the grounds. 
As soon as his back was turned, Lady Janet lifted the gold 
pencil-case which hung at her watch-chain, and wrote on her 
nephew’s card (for the information of the officer in plain clothes): 
“ You are wanted at Mablethorpe House.” This done, she put 
the card into the old-fashioned pocket of her dress, and re- 
turned to the dining-room. 

Grace was waiting, in obedience to the instructions which 
she had received. 

For the first moment or two, not a word was spoken on 
either side. Now that she was alone with her adopted daughter, 
a certain coldness and hardness began to show itself in Lady 
Janet’s manner. The discovery that she had made, on opening 
the drawing-room door, still hung on her mind. Julian had 
certainly convinced her th." t she had misinterpreted what she 


THE SEARCH IN THE GROUNDa 


147 


had seen ; but he had convinced her against her will. She 
had found Mercy deeply agitated ; suspiciously silent. Julian 
might be innocent (she admitted) — there was no accounting 
for the vagaries of men. But the case of Mercy was altogether 
different. Women did not find themselves in the arms of men 
without knowing what they were about. Acquitting Julian, 
Lady Janet declined to acquit Mercy. “ There is some secret 
understanding between them,” thought the old lady, “ and she’s 
to blame ; the women always are ! ” 

Mercy still waited to be spoken to ; pale and quiet, silent 
and submissive. Lady Janet — in a highly uncertain state of 
temper — was obliged to begin. 

“ My dear ! ” she called out sharply. 

“ Yes, Lady Janet.” 

“ How much longer are you going to sit there, with your 
mouth shut up and your eyes on the carpet 1 Have you no 
opinion to offer on this alarming state of things ? You heard 
what the man said to Julian — I saw you listening. Are you 
horribly frightened ? ” 

“No, Lady Janet.” 

“ Not even nervous 1 ” 

“No, Lady Janet.” 

“ Ha ! I should hardly have given you credit for so much 
courage after my experience of you a week ago. I congratulate 
you on your recovery. Do you hear ? I congratulate you on 
your recovery.” 

“Thank you. Lady JaneL” 

“ I am not so composed as you are. We were an exciteable 
set in my youth — and I havn’t got the better of it yet. I feel 
nervous. Do you hear % I feel nervous.” 

“ I am sorry. Lady Janet.” 

“ You are very good. Do you know what I am going to do 1 ” 

“No, Lady Janet.” 

“ I am going to summon the household. When I say the 
household, I mean the men ; the women are of no use. I am 
afraid I fail to attract your attention ? ” 

“ You have my best attention, Lady Janet.” 

“ You are very good again. I said the women were of no 
'use.” 

“ Yes, Lady Janet % ” 


148 


THE NEW MAGDALEN 


I mean to place a man-servant on guard at every entrance 
to the house. I am going to do it at once. Will you come 
with me 1 ” 

“ Can I be of any use if I go with your Ladyship ? ” 

“You can’t be of the slightest use. I give the orders in 
this house — not you. I had quite another motive in asking 
you to come with me. I am more considerate of you than you 
seem to think — I don’t like leaving you here by yourself. 
Do you understand 

“ I am much obliged to your Ladyship. I don’t mind being 
left here by myself. ” 

“You don’t mind*? I never heard of such heroism in my 
life — out of a novel I Suppose that crazy wretch should finvl 
her way in here 1 ” 

“ She would not frighten me this time, as she frightened mo 
before.” 

“ Not too fast my young lady ! Suppose Good Hea- 

vens ! now I think of it, there is the conservatory. Suppose 
she should be hidden in there ? Julian is searching the 
grounds. Who is to search the conservatory 1” 

“ With your Ladyship’s permission, I will search the con- 
servatory.” 

“You!!” 

“ With your Ladyship’s permission.” 

I can hardly believe my own ears ! Well, ‘ Live and learn’ 
is an old proverb. 1 thought I knew your character. This is 
a change I ” 

“ You forget. Lady Janet (if I may venture to say so) that 
the circumstances are changed. She took me by surprise on 
the last occasion ; I am prepared for her now.” 

“ Do you really feel as coolly as you speak 1 ” 

“Yes, Lady Janet.” 

“ Have your own way, then. I shall do one thing, however, 
in case of your having over-estimated your own courage. I 
shall place one of the men in the library. You will only have 
to ring for him, if anything happens. He will give the alarm 
— and I shall act accordingly. I have my plan,” said her La- 
dyship, comfortably conscious of the card in her pocket. “Don’t 
look as if you wanted to know what it is. I have no intention 
of saying any thing about it — except that it will do. Once more, 


THE SEARCH IN THE GROUNDS. 


U9 


and for the last time — do you stay here? or do you go with me 1” 

“ I stay here.” 

She respectfully opened the library door for Lady Janet’s 
departure as she made that reply. Throughout the interview 
she had been carefully and coldly deferential ; she had not 
once lifted her eyes to Lady Janet’s face. The conviction in 
her that a few hours more would, in all probability, see her 
dismissed from the house, had of necessity fettered every word 
that she spoke — had morally separated her already from the 
injured mistress whose love she had won in disguise. Utterly 
incapable of attributing the change in her young companion to 
the true motive, Lady Janet left the room to summon her do- 
mestic garrison, thoroughly puzzled, and (as a necessary conse- 
quence of that condition) thoroughly displeased. 

Still holding the library door in her hand, Mercy stood 
watching with a heavy heart the progress of her benefactress 
down the length of the room, on the way to the front hall 
beyond. She had honestly loved and respected the warm- 
hearted, quick-tempered old lady. A sharp pang of pain 
wrung her, as she thought of the time when even the chance 
utterance of her name would become an unpardonable offence 
in Lady Janet’s house. 

But there was no shrinking in her now from the ordeal of 
the confession. She was not only anxious, she was impatient 
for Julian’s return. Before she slept that night, Julian’s con- 
fidence in her should be a confidence that she had deserved. 

Let her own the truth, without the base fear of discovery 
to drive her to it. Let her do justice to the woman whom she 
has wronged, while that woman is still powerless to expose 
her. Let her sacrifice everything that she has gained by the 
fraud to the sacred duty of atonement. If she can do that, 
then her repentance has nobly revealed the noble nature that is 
in her; then, she is a woman to be trusted, respected, beloved.” 
Those words were as vividly present to her, as if she still heard 
them falling from his lips. Those other words which had fol- 
lowed them, rang as grandly as ever in her ears : “ Rise, poor 
wounded heart 1 Beautiful, purified soul, God’s angels rejoice 
over you ! Take your place among the noblest of God’s crea- 
tures ! ” Did the woman live who could hear Julian Gray say 
that, and who could hesitate, at any sacrifice, at any loss, to 


150 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


justify his belief in her ? “ Oh ! ” she thought longingly, while 

her eyes followed Lady Janet to the end of the library, “ If 
your worst fears could only be realized ! If I could only see 
Grace Eoseberry in this room, how fearlessly I could meet her 
now ! ” 

She closed the library door, while Lady Janet opened the 
other door which led into the hall. 

As she turned and looked back into the dining-room, a cry of 
astonishment escaped her. 

There — as if in answer to the aspiration which was still in 
her mind ; there, established in triumph, on the chair that she 
had just left — sat Grace Eoseberry, in sinister silence, waiting 
for her. 


THE EVIL GENIUS. 


151 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE EVIL GENIUS. 

ECOVERTNGr from the first overpowering sensation of 
surprise, Mercy rapidly advanced, eager to say her first 
^ penitent words. Grace stopped her by a warning ges- 
ture of the hand. “No nearer to me,” she said, with a look 
of contemptuous command. “ Stay where you are.” 

Mercy paused. Grace’s reception had startled her. She in- 
stinctively took the chair nearest to her to support herself. 
Grace raised a warning hand for the second time, and issued 
another command : 

“ I forbid you to be seated in my presence. You have no 
right to be in this house at all. Remember, if you please, who 
you are, and who I am.” 

The tone in which those words were spoken was an insult 
in itself. Mercy suddenly lifted her head ; the angry answer 
was on her lips. She checked it, and submitted in silence. “ I 
will be worthy of J ulian Gray’s confidence in me,” she thought, 
as she stood patiently by the chair. “I will bear anything 
from the woman whom I have wronged.” 

In silence the two faced each other ; alone together, for the 
first time since they had met in the French cottage. The con- 
trast between them was strange to see. Grace Roseberry, 
seated in her chair, little and lean, with her dull white complex- 
ion, with her hard threatening face, with her shrunken figure 
clad in its plain and poor black garments, looked like a being 
of a lower sphere, compared with Mercy Merrick, standing 
erect in her rich silken dress ; her tall, shapely figure towering 
over the little creature before her ; her grand head bent in 
graceful submission ; gentle, patient, beautiful ; a woman whom 
it was a privilege to look at and a distinction to admire. If 
a stranger had been told that those two had played their parts 
in a romance of real life — that one of them was really con- 
nected by the ties of relationship with Lady J anet Roy, and 


152 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


that the other had successfully attempted to personate her — 
he would inevitably, if it had been left to him to guess which 
was which, have picked out Grace as the counterfeit and Mercy 
as the true woman. 

Grace broke the silence. She had waited to open her lips 
until she had eyed her conquered victim all over, with dis- 
dainfully minute attention, from head to foot. 

“ Stand there. I like to look at yon,” she said, speaking 
with a spiteful relish of her own cruel words. “ It’s no use 
fainting this time. You have not got Lady Janet Eoy to bring 
you to. There are no gentlemen here to-day to pity you and 
pick you up. Mercy Merrick, I have got you at last. Thank 
God, my turn has come ! You can’t escape me now !” 

All the littleness of heart and mind which had first shown 
itself in Grace at the meeting in the cottage, when Mercy told 
the sad story of her life, now revealed itself once more. The 
woman who, in those past times, had felt no impulse to take a 
suffering and a penitent fellow-creature by the hand, was the 
same woman who could feel no pity, who could spare no insol- 
ence of triumph, now. Mercy’s sweet voice answered her pati- 
ently, in low pleading tones. 

I have not avoided you,” she said. I would have gone to 
you of my own accord if I had known that you were here. It 
is my heart-felt wish to own that I have sinned against you, 
and to make all the atonement that I can. I am too anxious 
to deserve your forgiveness, to have any fear of seeing you.” 

Conciliatory as the reply was, it was spoken with a simple 
and modest dignity of manner ^which roused Grace Eoseberry 
to fury. 

How dare you speak to me as if you were my equal 1 ” she 
burst out. “ You stand there, and answer me, as if you had 
your right and your place in this house. You audacious wo- 
man ! 1 have my right and my place here — and what am I 
obliged to do ? I am obliged to hang about in the grounds, 
and fly from the sight of the servants, and hide like a thief, 
and wait like a beggar ; and all for what ? For the chance of 
having a word with you. Yes ! you, madam ! with the air of 
the Eefuge and the dirt of the streets on you ! ” 

Mercy’s head sank lower ; her hand trembled as it held by 
the back ot the chair. 


THE EVIL GENIUS. 


153 


It was hard to bear the reiterated insults heaped on her, but 
Julian’s influence still made itself felt. She answered as path 
«ntly as ever : 

“If it is your pleasure to use hard words to me,” she said, 
“ I have no right to resent them.” 

“ You have no right to anything ! ” Grace retorted. “ You 
have no right to the gown on your back. Look at Yourself 
and look at Me ! ” Her eyes travelled with a tigerish stare 
over Mercy’s costly silk dress. “ Who gave you that dress 1 
who gave you those jewels ^ I know ! Lady Janet gave 
them to Grace Eoseberry. Are you Grace Eoseberry ? That 
dress is mine. Take off your bracelets and your brooch. They 
were meant for me.” 

“ You may soon have them, Miss Eoseberry. They will 
not be in my possession many hours longer,” 

“ What do you mean 1 ” 

“ However badly you may use me, it is my duty to undo the 
harm that I have done. I am bound to do you justice — I am 
determined to confess the truth.” 

Grace smiled scornfully. 

“ You confess ! ” she said. “ Do you think I am fool enough 
to believe that ? You are one shameful brazen lie from head 
to foot ! Are you the woman to give up your silks and your 
jewels, and your position in this house, and go back to the Ee- 
fuge of your own accord 1 Not you — not you.” 

A first faint flush of colour showed itself, stealing slowly 
over Mercy’s face ; but she still held resolutely by the good in- 
fluence which Julian had left behind him. She could still say 
to herself, “Anything rather than disappoint Julian Gray!” 
Sustained by the courage which he'had called to life in her, she 
submitted to her martyrdom as bravely as ever. But there was 
an ominous change in her now : she could only submit in si- 
lence ; she could no longer trust herself to answer. 

The mute endurance in her face additionally exasperated 
Grace Eoseberry. 

“ You won’t confess,” she went on. “ You have had a week 
to confess in, and you have not done it yet. No, no ! you are 
of the sort that cheat and lie to the last. I am glad ol it ; I 
shall have the joy of exposing you before the whole house. I 
shall be the blessed means of casting you back on the streets. 


154 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


Oh ! it will be almost worth all I have gone through, to see you 
with a policeman’s hand on your arm, and the mob pointing at 
and mocking you on your way to gaol ! ” 

This time the sting struck deep ; the outrage was beyond 
endurance. Mercy gave the woman who had again and again 
deliberately insulted her a first warning. 

“ Miss Eoseberry,” she said, ‘‘I have borne without a mur- 
mur the bitterest words you could say to me. Spare me any 
more insults. Indeed, indeed, I am eager to restore you to 
your just rights. With my whole heart I say it to you — I am 
resolved to confess everything 

She spoke with trembling earnestness of tone. Grace listen- 
ed with a hard smile of incredulity and a hard look of contempt. 

“ You are not far from the bell,” she said ; “ring it.” 

Mercy looked at her in speechless surprise. 

“You are a perfect picture of repentance — you are dying to 
own the truth,” pursued the other satirically. “ Own it before 
everybody, and own it at once. Call in Lady Janet — call in 
Mr. Gray and Mr. Holmcroft — call in the servants. Go down 
on your knees and acknowledge yourself an impostor before 
them all. Then will I believe — not before.” 

“ Don’t, don’t turn me against you 1 ” cried Mercy 
entreatingly. 

“ What do I care whether you are against me or not ? ” 

“Don’t — for your own sake, don’t go on provoking me much 
longer ! ” 

“ For my own sake 1 You insolent creature ! Do you mean 
to threaten me 1 ” 

With a last desperate effort, her heart beating faster and 
faster, the blood burning hotter and hotter in her cheeks, Mercy 
still controlled herself. 

“ Have some compassion on me ! ” she pleaded. “ Badly as 
I have behaved to you, I am still a woman like yourself. I 
can’t face the shame of acknowledging what I have done before 
the whole house. Lady Janet treats me like a daughter ; Mr. 
Holmcroft has engaged himself to marry me. 1 can’t tell 
Lady J anet • and Mr. Holmcroft to their faces that I have 
cheated them out of their love. But they shall know it for all 
that. I can, and will, before I rest to-night, tell the whole 
truth to Mr. Julian Gray, 


THE EVIL GENIUS. 


155 


Grace burst out laughing. “ Aha ! ” she exclaimed, with a 
cynical outburst of gaiety. Now we have come to it at 
last ! ” 

“ Take care ! ” said Mercy. “ Take care ! ” 

“ Mr. Julian Gray ! ” I was behind the billiard-room door 
— I saw you coax Mr. Julian Gray to come in. Confession 
loses all its horrors, and becomes quite a luxury, with Mr. 
Julian Gray ! ” 

No more. Miss Eoseberry ! no more ! For God’s sake, 
don’t put me beside myself ! You have tortured me enough 
already.” 

“ You haven’t been on the streets for nothing. You are a 
woman with resources ; you know the value of having two 
strings to your bow. If Mr. Holmcroft fail you, you have Mr. 
J ulian Gray. Ah ! you sicken me. Fll see that Mr. Holm- 
croft’s eyes are opened ; he shall know what a woman he might 
have married, but for Me. 

She checked herself j the next refinement of insult remained 
suspended on her lips. 

The woman whom she had outraged suddenly advanced on 
her. Her eyes staring helplessly upward, saw Mercy Merrick’s 
face, white with the terrible anger which drives the blood back 
on the heart, bending threateningly over her. 

“ ‘ You will see that Mr. Holmcroft’s eyes are opened,’ ” 
Mercy slowly repeated ; “‘he shall know what sort of a wo- 
man he might have married, but for you ! ’ 

Sh paused, and followed t^ese words by a question which 
struck a creeping terror through Grace Eoseberry, from the 
hair of her head to the soles of her feet. 

“ Who are you V 

The suppressed fury of look and tone which accompanied that 
question told, as no violence could have told it, that the limits 
of Mercy’s endurance had been found at last. In the guardian 
angel’s absence the evil genius had done it’s evil work. The 
better nature which Julian Gray had brought to life sank, 
poisoned by the vile venom of a woman’s spiteful tongue. An 
easy and terrible means of avenging the outrages heaped on her 
was within Mercy’s reach if she chose to take it. In the frenzy 
of her indignation she never hesitated — she took it. 

“ Who are you i ” she asked for the second time. 


156 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


Grace roused herself and attempted to speak. Mercy stop- 
ped her with a scornful gesture of her hand. 

“I remember!” she went on, with the same fiercely sup- 
pressed rage. “You are the mad woman from the German 
hospital who came here a week ago. I am not afraid of you this 
time. Sit down and rest yourself, Mercy Merrick.” 

Deliberately giving her that name to her face, Mercy turned 
from her and took the chair which Grace had forbidden her to 
occupy when the interview began. 

Grace started to her feet. 

“ What does this mean ? ” she asked. 

“ It means,” answered Mercy contemptuously, “ that I recall 
every word I said to you just now. It means that I am resolved 
to keep my place in this house.” 

“Are you out of your senses 1 ” 

“ You are not far from the bell. Ring it. Do what you 
asked me to do. Call in the whole household, and ask them 
which of us is mad — you or I ? ” 

“ Mercy Merrick ! you shall repent this to the last hour of 
your life !” 

Mercy rose again, and fixing her flashing eyes on the woman 
who still defied her. 

“ I have had enough of you ! ” she said. “ Leave the house 
while you can leave it. Stay here and I will send for Lady 
Janet Roy.” 

“ You can’t send for her ! You daren’t send for her I ” 

“ I can and I dare. You have not a shadow of a proof 
against me. I have got the papers ; I am in possession of the 

f lace ; I have established myself in Lady Janet’s confidence. 

mean to deserve your opinion of me — I will keep my dresses 
and my jewels, and my position in the house. I deny that I 
have done wrong. Society has used me cruelly ; I owe nothing 
to Society. I have a right to take any advantage of it if I can. 
I deny that I have injured you. How was I to know that you 
would come to life again % Have I degraded your name and 
your character 1 I have done honour to both. I have won 
everybody’s liking and everybody’s respect. Do you think 
Lady Janet would have loved you as she loves me 1 Not she ! 
I tell you to your face, I have filled the false position more cre- 
ditably then you could have filled the true one, and I mean to 


THE EVIL GENIUS. 157 

keep it. I won’t give up your name ; I won’t restore your 
character ! Do your worst, I defy you ! ” 

She poured out those reckless words in one headlong flow 
which defied interruption. There was no answering her until 
she was too breathless to say more. Grace seized her oppor- 
tunity the moment it was within her reach. 

‘‘ You defy me ? ” she returned resolutely. “ You won’t defy 
me long. I have written to Canada. My friends will speak 
for me.” 

“ What of it, if they do *1 Your friends are strangers here. 
I am Lady Janet’s adopted daughter. Do you think she will 
believe your friends 1 She will believe me. She will burn 
their letters if they write. She will forbid the house to them 
if they com^. I shall be Mrs. Horace Holmcroft in a week’s 
time. Who can shake my position ? Who can injure Me 1 ” 

“Wait a little. You forget the matron at the Refuge.” 

“ Find her, if you cam I never told you her name. I never 
told you where the Refuge was.” 

“ I will advertise your name, and find the matron in that 
way.” 

“ Advertise in every newspaper in London. Do you think 
I gave a stranger like you the name I really bore in the Re- 
fuge ? I gave you the name I assumed when I left England. 
No such person as Mercy Merrick is known to the matron. No 
such person is known to Mr. Holmcroft. He saw me at the 
French cottage while you were senseless on the bed. I had my 
grey cloak on ; neither he nor any of them saw me in my 
nurse’s dress. Inquiries have been made about me on the Con- 
tinent — and (I happen to know from the person who made 
them) with no result. I am safe in your place ; I am known 
by your name. I am Grace Roseberry ; and you are Mercy 
Merrick. Disprove it if you can.” 

Summing up the unassailable security of her false position in 
those closing words, Mercy pointed significantly to the billiard- 
room door. 

“ You were hiding there, by your own confession,” she said. 
“You know your way out by that door. Will you leave the 
room 1 ” 

“ I won’t stir a step ! ” 

Mercy walked to a side-table, and struck the bell placed on it. 


168 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


At the same moment, the billiard-room door opened. Julian 
Gray appeared — returning from his unsuccessful search in the 
grounds. 

He had barely crossed the threshold before the library-door 
was thrown open next by the servant posted in the room. The 
man drew back respectfully, and gave admission to Lady Janet 
Roy. She was followed by Horace Holmcroft with his mother’s 
wedding present to Mercy in his hand. 


THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES. 


159 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES. 

f ^"^ULIAN looked round the room,, and stopped at the door 
which he had just opened. 

His eyes rested — first on Mercy, next on Grace. 

The disturbed faces of both the women told him but too 
plainly that the disaster which he had dreaded had actually 
happened. They had met without any third party to interfere 
between them. To what extremities the hostile interview 
might have led, it was impossible for him to guess. In his 
aunt’s presence, he could only wait his opportunity of spea^-mg 
to Mercy, and be ready to interpose if anything was ignorantly 
done which might give just cause of offence to Grace. 

Lady Janet’s course of action, on entering the dining-room, 
was in perfect harmony with Lady Janet’s character. 

Instantly discovering the intruder, she looked sharply at 
Mercy. “ What did I tell you ? ” she asked. “ Are you fright- 
ened? No ! not in the least frightened ! Wonderful ! ” She 
turned to the servant. “ Wait in the library ; I may want you 
again.” She looked at Julian. “Leave it all tome; I can 
manage it.” She made a sign to Horace : “ Stay where you 
are, and hold your tongue.” Having said all that was neces- 
sary to every one else, she advanced to the part of the room in 
which Grace was standing, with lowering brows and firmly- 
shut lips, defiant of everybody. 

“ I have no desire to ofiend you, or to act harshly towards 
you,” her ladyship began very quietly. “ I only suggest that 
your visits to my house cannot lead to any satisfactory result. 
I hope you will not oblige me to say any harder words than 
these — I hope you will understand that I wish you to withdraw.” 

The order of dismissal could hardly have been issued with 
more humane consideration for the supposed mental infirmity 
of the person to wiiom it was addressed. Grace instantly re- 
sisted in the plainest possible terms. 


160 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


“ In justice to my father’s memory, and injustice to myself,” 
she answered, “ I insist on a hearing. I refuse to withdraw.” 
She deliberately took a chair and seated herself in the presence 
of the mistress of the house. 

Lady Janet waited a moment — steadily controlling her tem- 
per. In the interval of silence, Julian seized the opportunity 
of remonstrating with Grace. 

“ Is this what you promised me 1 ” he asked gently. “ You 
gave me your word that you would not return to Mablethorpe 
House.” 

Before he could say more, Lady Janet had got her temper 
under command- She began her answer to Grace by pointing 
with a peremptory forefinger to the library door. 

“ If you have not made up your mind to take my advice by 
the time 1 have walked back to that door,” she said, “ I will 
put it out of your power to set me at defiance. I am used to be 
obeyed, and I will be obeyed. You force me to use hard words. 
I warn you before it is too late. Go.” 

She returned slowly towards the library. Julian attempted 
to interfere with another word of remonstrance. His aunt 
stopped him by a gesture which said plainly, “ I insist on act- 
ing for myself.” He looked next at Mercy. Would she re- 
main passive 1 Yes. She never lifted her head ; she never 
moved from the place in which she was standing apart from 
the rest. Horace himself tried to attract her attention, and 
tried in vain. 

Arrived at the library door. Lady Janet looked over her 
shoulder at the little immovable black figure in the chair. 

“ Will you go 1 ” she asked for the last time. 

Grace started up angrily from her seat, and fixed her viper- 
ish eyes on Mercy. 

I won’t be turned out of your ladyship’s house, in the pre- 
sence of that impostor,” she said. “ I may yield to force — But 
I will yield to nothing else. I insist on my right to the place 
that she has stolen from me. It’s no use scolding me,” she 
added, turning doggedly to Julian. “ As long as that woman 
is here under my name, I can’t and won’t keep away from the 
house. I warn her, in your presence, that I have written to my 
friends in Canada ! I dare her before you all to deny that she 
is the outcast and adventuress, Mercy Merrick 1 ” 


THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES. 


161 


The challenge forced Mercy to take part in the proceedings, 
in her own defence. She had pledged herself to meet and defy 
Grace Roseberry on her own ground. She attempted to speak 
— Horace stopped her. 

“ You degrade yourself if you answer her,” he said. Take 
my arm, and let us leave the room.” 

“ Yes ! Take her out ! ” cried Grace. “ She may well be 
ashamed to face an honest woman. It’s her place to leave the 
room — not mine ! ” 

Mercy drew her hand out of Horace’s arm. “ I decline to 
leave the room,” she said, quietly. 

Horace still tried to persuade her to withdraw. “ I can’4- 
bear to hear you insulted,” he rejoined. The woman offends 
me, though I know she is not responsible for what she says.” 

“ Nobody’s endurance will be tried much longer,” said Lady 
Janet. She glanced at Julian, and, taking from her pocket the 
card which he had given her, opened the library door. 

“ Go to the police station,” she said to the servant in an un- 
dertone, “ and give that card to the inspector on duty. Tell 
him there is not a moment to lose.” 

“ Stop ! ” said Julian, before his aunt could close the door 
again. 

“ Stop ? ” repeated Lady Janet, sharply. I have given the 
man his orders. What do you mean i ” 

“ Before you send the card, I wish to say a word in private 
to this lady,” replied Julian, indicating Grace. “ When tliat 
is done,” he continued, approaching Mercy, and pointedly ad- 
dressing himself to her, “ I shall have a request to make — I 
shall ask you to give me an opportunity of speaking to you 
without interruption.” 

His tone pointed the allusion. Mercy shrank from 
looking at him. The signs of painful agitation began to 
show themselves in her shifting colour and her uneasy silence. 
Roused by Julian’s significantly distant reference to what had 
passed between them, her better impulses were struggling al- 
ready to recover their influence over her. She might, at that 
critical moment, have yielded to the promptings of her own 
nobler nature — she might have risen superior to the galling re- 
memberance of the insults which had been heaped upon her — 
if Grace’s malice had not seen in ner Hesitation a means of re- 
K 


162 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


ferring offensively once again to her interview with Julian 
Crray. 

“ Pray don’t think twice about trusting him alone with me,” 
she said with a sardonic affection of politeness. “ I am not in- 
terested in making a conquest of Mr. Julian Gray.” 

The jealous distrust in Horace (already awakened by 
Julian’s request) now attempted to assert itself openly. Before 
he could speak, Mercy’s indignation had dictated Mercy’s answer. 

“ I am much obliged to you, Mr. Gray,” she said, addressing 
Julian (but still not raising her eyes to his). “ I have no- 
thing more to say. There is no need for me to trouble you 
again.” 

In those rash words she recalled the confession to which she 
stood pledged. In those rash words she committed herself tp 
keeping the position which she had usurped, in the face of the 
woman whom she had deprived of it 1 

Horace was silenced, but not satisfied. He saw Julian’s 
eyes fixed in sad and searching attention on Mercy’s face, while 
she was speaking. He heard Julian sigh to himself when she 
had done. He observed Julian — after a moment’s serious con- 
sideration, and a moment’s glance backward at the stranger in 
the poor black clothes — lift his head with the air of a man who 
had taken a sudden resolution. 

“ Bring me that card directly,” he said to the servant. His 
tone announced that he was not to be trifled with. The man 
obeyed. 

Without answering Lady Janet — who still peremptorily in- 
sisted on her right to act for herself — Julian took the pencil 
from his pocket-book, and added his signature to the writing 
already inscribed on the card. When he had handed it back 
to the servant he made his apologies to his aunt. 

“ Pardon me for venturing to interfere,” he said. “ There is 
a serious reason for what I have done, which I will explain to 
you at a fitter time. In the meanwhile, I offer no further ob- 
struction to the course which you propose taking. On the con- 
trar} I have just assisted you in gaining the end that you have 
in view.” 

As he said that, he held up the pencil with which he had 
signed his name. 

Lady Janet, naturally perplexed, and (with some reason 


THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES 163 

perhaps) offended as well, made no answer. She waved her 
hand to the servant, and sent him away with the card. 

There was silence in the room. The eyes of all the persons 
present turned more or less anxiously on Julian. Mercy was 
vaguely surprised and alarmed. Horace, like lady Janet, felt 
offended, witliout clearly knowing why. Even Grace Rose- 
heri y lierself was subdued by some presentiment of coming in- 
terference for which she was completely unprepared. Julian’s 
w ords and actions, from the moment when he had written on 
the card, were involved in a mystery to which not one of the 
persons round him held the clue. 

The motive which had animated his conduct may, neverthe- 
less, be described in two words : Julian still held to his faith 
in the inbred nobility of Mercy’s nature. 

He had inferred, with little difficulty, from the language 
which Grace had used towards Mercy in his presence, that the 
injured woman must have taken pitiless advantage of her posi- 
tion at the interview which he had interrupted. Instead of 
a];pealing to Mercy’s sympathies and Mercy’s sense of right 
— instead of accepting the expression of her sincere contri- 
tion, and encouraging her to make the completest and the 
speediest atonement — Grace had evidently outraged and insult- 
ed her. As a necessary result, her endurance had given 
way — under her own sense of intolerable severity and intoler- 
able wrong. 

The remedy for the mischief thus done was (as Julian had 
first seen it) to speak privately with Grace— to soothe her by 
owning that his opinion of the justice of her claims had under- 
gone a change in her favour — and then to persuade her, in her 
ov\m interests, to let him carry to Mercy such expressions of 
apology and regret as might lead to a friendly understanding 
between them. 

With those motives, he had made his request to be permit- 
ted to speak separately to the one, and the other. The scene 
that had followed, the new insult offered by Grace, and the an- 
swer which it had wrung from Mercy, had convinced him that 
no such interference as he had contemplated would have the 
slightest prospect of success. 

The one remedy now left to try was the desperate remedy of 


164 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 



letting things take their course, and trusting implicitly to 
Mercy’s better nature for the result. 

Let her see the police officer in plain clothes enter the room. 
Let her understand clearly what the result of his interference 
would be. Let her confront the alternative of consigning 
Grace Eoseberry to a madhouse, or confessing the truth— and 
what would happen ? If Julian’s confidence in her was a con- 
fidence soundly placed, she would nobly pardon the outrages ’ 
which had been heaped upon her, and she would do justice to 
the woman whom she had wronged. 

If, on the other hand, his belief in her was nothing better 
than the blind belief of an infatuated man — if she faced the al- 
ternative, and persisted in asserting her assumed identity, what 
then 1 ^ 

Julian’s faith in Mercy refused to let that darker side of the 
question find a place in his thoughts. It rested entirely with 
him to bring the officer into the house. He had prevented 
Lady J aiiet from making any mischievous use of his card, by 
sending to the police-station, and w’arniiig them to attend to no 
message which they might receive unless the card produced 
bore his signature. Knowing the responsibility that he was 
taking on himself— knowing that Mercy had made no confes- 
sion to him to which it was possible to appeal — he had signed 
his name without an instant’s hesitation : and there he stood 
now, looking at the woman whose better nature he was deter- 
mined to vindicate, the only calm person in the room. 

Horace’s jealousy saw something suspiciously suggestive of a 
private understanding in Julian’s earnest attention and in 
Mercy’s downcast face. Having no excuse for open interfer- 
;.nce, he made an effort to part them. 

You spoke just now,” he said to Julian, “of wishing to 
rfay a word in private to that person.” (He pointed to Grace). 

“ Shall we retire, or will you take her into the library ? ” 

“ I refuse to have anything to say to him,” Grace burst out. 
before Julian could answer. “ I happen to know that he is 
the last person to do me justice. He has been effectually hood- 
winked. If I speak to anybody privately, it ought to be to you. 
Yqil have the greatest interest of any of them in finding out the 
truth.” 

“ What do you mean % ” 


THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES. 


165 


‘‘Do you want to marry an outcast from the streets 1 ” 

Horace took one step forward towards her. There was a 
look in his face which plainly betrayed that he was capable of 
turning her out of the house with his own hands. Lady Janet 
stopped him. 

“ You were riglit in suggesting just now that Grace had bet- 
ter leave the room,’^ she said. “ Let us all three go. Julian 
will remain here, and give the man his directions when he ar- 
rives. Come.” 

No. By a strange contradiction, it was Horace himself who 
now interfered to prevent Mercy from leaving the room. In 
the heat of his indignation, he lost all sense of his own dig- 
nity ; he descended to the level of a woman whose intellect he 
believed to be deranged. To the surprise of every one present, 
he stepped back, and took from the table a jewel-case which he 
had placed there when he came into the room. It was the 
wedding present from his mother which he had brought to his 
betrothed wife. His outraged self-esteem seized the opportu- 
nity of vindicating Mercy by a public bestowal of the gift. 

“ Wait ! ” he called out sternly. “ That wretch shall have 
her answer. She has sense enough to see, and sense enough to 
near. Let her see and hear ! ” 

He opened the jewel-case, and took from it a magnificent 
pearl necklace in an antique setting. 

“ Grace,” he said,, with his highest distinction of manner^ 
“ my mother sends you her love, and her congratulations on 
our approaching marriage. She begs you to accept as part of 
your iDridal dress, these pearls. She was married in them herself. 
They have been in our family for centuries. A.s one of the 
family, honoured and belovq^, my mother offers them to my 
wife.” ' 

He lifted the necklace to clasp it round Mercy’s neck. 

Julian watched her in breathless suspense. Would she sus- 
tain the ordeal through which Horace had innocently con- 
demned her to pass ? 

Yes 1 In the insolent presence of Grace Roseberry, what 
'Was there now that she could not sustain ? Her pride was in 
arms. Her lovely eyes lighted up as only a woman’s eyes can 
light up when they see jewelry. Her grand head bent grac<> 
fully to receive the necklace. Her face warmed into colour ; 


166 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


her beauty rallied its charms. Her triumph over Grace "Rose- 
berry was complete! Julianas head sank. For one moment 
he secretly asked himself the question ; “ Have I been mistaken 
in her ? ” 

Horace arrayed her in the pearls. 

“ Your husband puts these pearls on your neck, love,” he 
said proudly, and paused to look at her. “ Now,” he added, 
with a contemptous backward glance at Grace, “ we may go 
into the library. She has seen, and she has heard ” 

He believed that he had silenced her. He had simply fur- 
nished her sharp tongue with a new sting. 

You will hear, and you will see, when my proofs come from 
Canada,” she retorted. “ You will hear that your wife has 
stolen my name and my character I You will see your wife 
dismissed from this house.” 

Mercy turned on her with an uncontrollable outburst of pas- 
^on. 

“ You are mad 1 ” she cried. 

Lady Janet caught the electric infection of anger in the air 
of the room. She too turned on Grace. She too said it : 

“ You are mad ! ” 

Horace followed Lady Janet. He was beside himself. '' Re 
fixed his pitiless eyes on Grace, and echoed the contagious 
words : 

“ You are mad ! ” 

She was silenced, she was daunted at last. The treble ac- 
cusation revealed to her, for the first time, the frightful suspi- 
cion to which she had exposed herself. She shrank back, with 
a low cry of horror, and struck against a chair. She would 
have fallen if Julian had not sprung forward and caught her. 

Lady Janet led the way into the library. She opened the 
door — started — and suddenly stepped aside, so as to leave the 
entrance free. 

A man appeared in the doorway. 

He was not a gentlemen ; he was not a workman ; he was 
not a servant. He was vilely dressed, in glossy black broad- 
cloth. His frock coat hung on him instead of fitting him. Hie 
waistcoat was too short and too tight over the chest. His trou- 
sers were a pair of shapeless black bags. His gloves were too 
’ATge for him. His high-polished boots creaked detestably 


THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CT.OTHES. 


1S7 


■whenever he moved. He . had odiously watchful eyes — ©3^5 
that looked skilled in peeping through keyholes. His large 
ears, set forward like the ears of .a monkey, pleaded guilty to 
meanly listening behind other people’s doors. His manner was 
quietly confidential, when he spoke ; impenetrably self-posses- 
sed, when he was silent. A lurking air of secret-services en- 
veloped the fellow', like an atmosphere of his own, from head 
to foot. He looked all round the magnificent room, without 
betraying either surprise or admiration. He closely investi- 
gated every person in it with one glance of his cunningly watch- 
ful eyes. Making his bow to Lady Janet, he silently showed 
her, as his introduction, the card that had summoned him. 
And then he stood at ease, self-revealed in his own sinister iden- 
tity— a police officer in plain clothes. 

Nobody spoke to him. Everybody shrank inwardly, as if a 
reptile had crawled into the room. 

He looked backwards and forwards, perfectedly unembarraa- 
sed, between Julian and Horace. 

“ Is Mr. Julian Gray here ^ ” he asked. 

Julian led Grace to a seat. Her eyes were fixed on the man. 
She trembled — she 'wdiispered, “Who is he 1 ” Julian spoke 
to the police officer without answering her. 

“ Wait there,” he said, pointing to a chair in the most dis- 
tant corner of the room. “ I will speak to you directly.” 

The man advanced to the chair, marching to the discord 
of his creaking boots. He privately valued the carpet, at 
so much a yard, as he walked over it. He privately valued 
the chairs, at so much the dozen as he sat down on it. 
He was quite at his ease : it w'as no matter to him, whether 
he waited and did nothing, or whether he pried into the pri- 
vate character of every one in the room, as long as he was paid 
for it. 

Even Lady J anet’s resolution to act for herself was not proof 
against the appearance of the policeman in plain clothes. She 
left it to her nephew to take the lead. Julian glanced at 
Mercy before he stiiTed further in the matter. He knew that 
the end rested now, not with him, but with her. 

She felt his eye on her, while her own eyes were looking at 
the man. She turned her head — hesitated — and suddenly ap- 


168 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


proached Julian. Like Grace Roseberry, she was trembling. 
Like Grace Roseberiy, she whispered, “ Who is he % 

J ulian told her plainly who he was. 

“ Why is he here ? 

Can’t you guess 1 
« Mo! ” 

Horace left Lady Janet, and joined Mercy and Julian — im- 
patient of the private colloquy between them. 

“ Am I in the way ? ” he inquired. 

Julian drew back a little, understanding Horace perfectly. 
He looked round at Grace. Nearly the whole length of the 
spacious room divided them from the place in which she was 
sitting. She had never moved since he had placed her in a 
chair. The direst of all terrors was in possession of her — ter- 
ror of the unknown. There was no fear of her interfering j 
and no fear of her hearing what they said, so long as they were 
careful to speak in guarded tones. Julian set the example by 
lowering his voice. 

“Ask Horace why the police officer is heire,” he said to Mercy 
She put the question directly. “ Why is he here ? ” 

Horace looked across the room at Grace, and answered, “ 
is here to relieve us of that woman.” 

“ Do you mean that he will take her away i ” 

“ Yes.” 

Where will he take her to i ’* 

“ To the police station.” 

Mercy started, and looked at Julian. He was still watching 
the slightest changes in her face. She looked back again at 
Horace, 

“ To the police station ! ” she repeated. “ What for 1 ” 

“ How can you ask the question 1 ” said Horace, irritably. 
“ To be placed under restraint, of course.” 

“ Do you mean prison 1 ” 

“ I mean an asylum.” 

Again Mercy turned to Julian. There was horror now, as 
well as surprise, in her face. “ Oh ! ” she said to him, “Horace 
is surely wrong “i It can’t be 1 ” 

Julian left it to Horace to answer. Every faculty in him 
seemed to be absorbed in watching Mercy’s face. She was com- 
pelled to address herself to Horace once more. 


THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES. 


169 


What sort of asylum 1 ” she asked. , You don’t surely 
mean a madhouse ? ” 

“ I do,” he rejoined. “ The workhouse first, perhaps — and 
then the madhouse. What is there to surprise you in that ? 
You yourself told her to her face she was mad. Good heavens ! 
how pale you are ! What is the matter ? ” 

She turned to Julian for the third time. The terrible alter- 
native that was offered to her had showed itself at last, with- 
out reserve or disguise. Eestore the identity you have stolen, 
or shut her up in a madhouse — it rests with you to choose I In 
that form tlie situation formed itself in her mind. She chose 
on the instant. Before she opened her lips, the higher nature 
in her spoke to Julian, in her eyes. The steady inner light 
that he had seen in them once already shone in them again, 
brighter and purer than before. The conscience that he had 
fortified, the soul that he had saved, looked at him, and said, 
Doubt us no more 1 

“ Send that man out of the house.” 

These were her first words. She spoke (pointing to the police 
officer) in clear, ringing, resolute tones, audable to the remot- 
est corner of the room, 

Julian’s hand stole unobserved to hers, and told her, in its 
momentary pressure, to count on his brotherly sympathy and 
help. All the other persons in the room looked at her in 
speechless surprise. Grace rose from her chair. Even the man 
in plain clothes started to his feet. Lady Janet (hurriedly 
joining Homce, and fully sharing his perplexity and alarm,) 
took Mercy impulsively by the arm, and shook it, as if to rouse 
her to a sense of what she was doing. Mercy held firm ; Mercy 
resolutely repeated what she had said • “ Send that man out 

of the house.” 

Lady Janet lost all patience with her. “ What has come to 
you ? ” she asked sternly. “ Do you know what you are say- 
ing ? The man is here in your interest, as well as mine ; the 
man is here to spare you, as well as me, further annoyance and 
insult. And you insist — insist, in my -presence — on his being 
sent away ! What does it mean ^ ” 

“ You shall know what it means. Lady Janet, in half an 
hour. I don’t insist- I only xeiterate my entreaty. Let the 
man be sent away i ” 


170 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


Julian stepped aside (with his aunt's eyes angrily following 
him.) and spoke to the police officer. “ Go back to the station, 
he said, “ and wait there till you hear from 

The meanly-vigilant eyes of the man in plain clothes travel- 
led sidelong from Julian to Mercy, and valued their beauty as 
they had valued the carpet and the chairs. “ The old story,” 
he thought. “ The nice-looking woman is always at the bot- 
tom of it ; and, sooner or later the nice-looking woman has her 
way.” He marched back across the room, to the discord of his 
own creaking boots ; bowed, with a villainous smile which put 
the worst construction upon everything ; and vanished through 
the library door. 

Lady Janet’s high breeding restrained her from saying any- 
thing until the police officer was out of hearing. Then, and 
not till then, she appealed to Julian. 

‘‘ I presume you are in the secret of this,” she said. “ I sup- 
pose you have some reason for setting my authority at defiance 
in my own house.” 

‘‘I have. never yet failed to respect your ladyship,” Julian 
answered. “ Before Ion , you will know that I am not failing 
in respect towards you now.” 

Lady Janet looked across the room. Grace was listening 
eagerly, conscious that events had taken some mysterious turn 
in her favour within the last minute. 

“ Is it part of your new arrangement of my affairs,” her 
ladyship continued, “that this person is to remain in the 
house 1 ” 

The terror that had daunted Grace had not lost all hold of 
her yet. She left it to Julian to reply. Before he could speak 
Mercy had crossed the room and whispered to her, “Give niA 
time to confess it in writing. I can’t own it before them — with 
this round my neck.” She pointed to the necklace. Grace 
cast a threatening glance at her, and suddenly looked away 
again in silence. 

Mercy answered Lady Janet’s question. “I beg your lady- 
ship to permit her to remain until the half hour is over,” she 
said. “ My request will have explained itself by that time.” 

Lady Janet raised no further obstacles. Something in 
Mercy’s face, or in Mercy’s tone, seemed to have silenced her, 
as it had silenced Grace. Horace was the next who spoke. In 


THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES. 171 

tones of suppressed rage and suspicion, he addressed himself to 
Mercy, standing fronting him by Julian’s side. 

“Am I included,” he asked, “in the arrangement which en- 
gages you to explain your extraordinary conduct in half an 
hour ? ” 

His hand had placed his mother’s wedding-present round 
Mercy’s neck. A sharp pang wrung her as she looked at 
Horace, and saw how deeply she had already distressed and of- 
fended him. The tears rose in her eyes ; she humbly and 
faintly answered him. 

“ If you please,” was all she could say, before the cruel swel- 
ling at her heart rose and silenced her. 

Horace’s sense of injury refused to be soothed by such simple 
gubmission as this. 

“I dislike mysteries and inuendoes,” he went on harshly. 
“ In my family circle we are accustomed to meet each other 
frankly. Why am I to wait half an hour for an explanation 
which might be given now 1 What am I to wait for 1 ” 

Lady Janet recovered herself as Horace spoke. . 

“ I entirely agree with you,” she said. “ I ask what are we 
to wait for ? ” 

Even Julian’s self-possession failed him when his aunt re- 
peated that cruelly plain question. How would Mercy answer 
it 1 Would her courage still hold out 1 

“ You have asked me what you are to wait for,” she said to 
Horace, quietly and firmly. “ Wait to hear something more of 
Mercy Merrick” 

Lady Janet listened with a look of weary disgust. 

“Don’t return to that T* she said. We know enough about 
Mercy Merrick already.” 

“ Pardon me — your ladyship does not know. I am the only 
person who can inform you.” 

“ You?” 

She bent her head respectfully. 

“I have begged of you. Lady Janet, to give me half an 
hour,” she went on. “ In half an hour I solemnly engage my- 
self to produce Mercy Merrick in this room. Lady J anet Koy, 
Mr. Horace Holmcroft, you are to wait for that.” 

Steadily pledging herself in those terms to make her confes- 
sion, she unclasped the pearls from her neck, put them away in 


172 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


their case, and placed it in Horace’s hand. ^‘Keep it,” she 
said, with a momentary faltering in her voice, “ until we meet 
again.” 

Horace took the case in silence ; he looked and acted like a 
man whose mind was paralysed by surprise. His hand moved 
mechanically. His eyes followed Mercy with a vacant ques- 
tioning look. Lady Janet seemed, in her different way, to 
share the strange oppression which had fallen on him. A vague 
sense of dread and distress hung like a cloud over her mind. 
At that memorable moment she felt her age, she looked her 
age, as she had never felt or looked it yet. 

“ Have I your ladyship’s leave,” said Mercy, respectfully, to 
go to my room 1 ” 

Lady Janet mutely granted the request. Mercy’s last look, 
before she went out, was a look at Grace. Are you satisfied 
mow “1 ” the grand grey eyes seemed to say mournfully. Grace 
turned her head aside, with a quick petulant action. Even 
her narrow nature opened for a moment unwillingly, and let 
pity in a little way, in spite of herself. 

Mercy’s parting words recommended Grace to Julian’s care ; 

You will see that she is allowed a room to wait in 1 You 
will warn her yourself when the half hour is expired ? ” 

Julian opened the library door for her. 

“ Well done 1 Nobly done ! ” he whispered. “ All my sym- 
pathy is with you — all my help is yours.” 

Her eyes looked at him, and thanked him, through her ga- 
thering tears. His own eyes were dimmed. She passed quietly 
down the room, and was lost to him before he had shut the door 
again. 


THE FOOTSTEP IN THE CORRIDOH. 


173 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE FOOTSTEP IN THE CORRIDOK. 

a ERCY was alone. 

She had secured one half-hour of retirement in her 
own room ; designing to devote that interval to the 
writing of her confession in the form of a letter addressed to 
Julian Gray. 

No recent change in her position had, as yet, mitigated her 
horror of acknowledging to Horace and Lady Janet that she 
had won her way to their hearts in disguise. Through Julian 
only could she say the words which were to establish Grace 
Roseberry in her right position in the house. 

How was her confession to be addressed to him ? In writ- 
ing 1 or by word of mouth 1 

After all that had happened, from the time when Lady 
Janet’s appearance had interrupted them, she would have relief 
rather than embarrassment in personally opening her heart to 
the man who had so delicately understood her, who had 
so faithfully befriended her in her sorest need. But the 
repeated betraj^als of Horace’s jealous suspicion of Julian warn- 
ed her that she would only be surrounding herself with new 
difficulties, and be placing Julian in a position of painful em- 
barrassment, if she admitted him to a private interview while 
Horace was in the house. 

The one course left to take was the course that she had 
adopted. Determining to address the narrative of the Fraud 
to Julian in the form of a letter, she arranged to add, at the 
close, certain instructions, pointing out to him ths line of con- 
duct which she wished him to pursue. 

These instructions contemplated the communication of her 
letter to Lady Janet and to Horace, in the library, while Mercy 
— self-confessed as the missing woman whom she had pledged 
herself to produce — awaited in the adjoining room whatever 
sentence it pleased them to pronounce on her. Her resolution 


174 


THE KEW MAGDALEN. 


not to screen herself behind Julian from any consequences ; ! 
which might follow the confession, had taken root in her mind f ■* 
from the moment when Horace had harshly asked her (and 
when Lady Janet had joined him in asking) why she delayed | 
her explanation, and what she was keeping them waiting for. 

Out of the very pain which these questions inflicted, the idea j 
of waiting her sentence in her own person, in one room, while 
her letter to Julian was speaking for her in another, liad sprung j 

to life. “ Let them break my heart if they like,” she had thought i 

to herself in the self-abasement of that bitter moment ; “ it will 
be no more than I have deserved.” 

She locked her door, and opened her writing-desk. Know- 
ing what she had to do, she tried to collect herself and do it. 

The effort was in vain. Those persons who study writing 
as an art are probably the only persons who can measure the 
vast distance which separates a conception as it exists in the 
mind from the reduction of that conception to form and shape 
in words. The heavy stress of agitation that had been laid 
on Mercy fur hours together, had utterly unfitted her for the 
delicate and difficult process of arranging the events of a nar- 
rative in their due sequence and their due proportion towards 
each other. Again and again she tried to begin her letter, and 
again and again she was baffled by the same hopeless confusion 
■of ideas. Slie gave up the struggle in despair. 

A sense of sinking at her heart, a weight of hysterical op- 
pression on her bosom, warned her not to leave herself unoc- 
cupied, a prey to morbid self-investigation, and imaginary 
alarms. 

She turned instinctively, for a temporary employment of 
•some kind, to the consideration of own future. Here there 
were no intricacies or entanglements. The prospect began ami 
ended with her return to the Refuge, if the matron would re- 
ceive her. She did no injustice to Julian Gray; that great 
heart w'ould feel for her, that kind hand would be held out to 
her, she knew. But what would happen if she thoughtlessly 
accepted all that his sympathy might offer ? Scandal would 
point to her beauty and to his youth, and would place its own 
vile interpretation on the purest friendship that could exist be- 
tween them. And he would be the sufferer, for he had a cha- 


THE FOOTSTEP IN THE COEEITOTl. 


176 


racter — a clergyman « character — to lose. No ! for his sake, 
out of gratitude to him^ the farewell to Mablethorpe House must 
be also the farewell to Julian Gray. 

The precious minutes were passing. She regolv^ed to write 
to the matron, and ask if she might hope to be forgiven and 
employed at the Kefuge again. Occupation over the letter that 
was easy to write might have its fortifying effect on her mind, 
and might pave the way for resuming the letter that was hard 
to write. She waited a moment at the window, thinking of the 
past life to which she was soon to return, before she took up the 
pen again. 

Her window looked eastward. The dusky glare of lighted 
London met her as her eyes rested on the sky. It seemed to 
beckon her back to the horrors of the cruel streets — to point 
her way mockingly to the bridges over the black river — to lure 
her to the top of the parapet, and the dreadful leap into God’s 
arms, or into annihilation — who knew which 1 

She turned, shuddering, from the window. “ Will it end in 
that way,” she asked herself, “ if the matron says No ? ” 

She began her letter. 

“ Dear Madam, — So long a time has passed since you heard 
from me, that I almost shrink from writing to you. I am 
afraid you have already given me up in your own mind as a hard- 
hearted, ungrateful woman. 

'‘I have been leading a false life ; I have not been fit to 
write to you before to-day. Now, when I am doing what I 
can to atone to those whom I have injured, now, when I repent 
with my whole heart, my I ask leave to return to the frieinl 
who has borne with me and helped me through many miserable 
years 1 Oh, madam, do not cast me off ! I have no one to 
turn to but you. 

‘f Will you let me own everything to you ? Will you for- 
give me when you know what I have done ? Will you take me 
back into the Refuge, if you have any employment for me by 
which I may earn my shelter and my bread 1 

“ Before the night comes I must leave the house from which 
I am now writing. I have nowhere to go to. The little 
money, the few valuable possessions I have, must be left behind 
me ; they have been obtained under false pretences ; they are 


176 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


not mine. No more forlorn creature than I am lives at this 
moment. You are a Christian woman. Not for my sake — for 
Christ’s sake, pity me and take me back. 

“ I am a good nurse, as you know, and I am a quick worker H 
with my needle. In one way or the other can you not find oc* ] 
cupation for me ? ' 

“ 1 could also teach, in a very unprete^xding way. But that 
is useless. Who would entrust their children to a woman 
without a character 1 There is no hope for me in this direc- 
tion. Yet I am so fond of children ! I think I could be — not 
happy again, perhaps, but content with my lot, if I could be as- 
sociated with them in some way. Are there not charitable 
societies which are trying to help and protect destitute children 
wandering about the streets 1 I think of my own wretched 
childhood — and oh ! I should so like to be employed in saving 
other children from ending as I have ended. I could work 
for such an object as that, from morning to night, and never 
feel weary. All my heart would be in it ; and I should have 
this advantage over happy prosperous women — I should have 
nothing else to think of. Surely, they might trust me with 
the poor little starving wanderers of the streets — if you said a 
a word for me ? If I am asking too much, please forgive me. 

I am so wretched, madam — so lonely and weary of my life. 

“ There is only one thing more. My time here is very short. 

Will you please reply to this letter (to say yes or no) by tele- 
gram 1 

“ The name by which you know me is not the name by which 
I have been known here. I must beg you to address the tele- 
gram to ‘The Reverend Julian Gray, Mablethorpe Grove, Ken- 
sington.’ He is here, and he will show it to me. No words 
of mine can describe what I owe to him. He has never de- 
spaired of me — he has saved me from myself. God bless and 
reward the kindest, truest, best man I have ever known. 

“I have no more to say, except to ask you to excuse this 
long letter, and to believe me your grateful servant, 

» 


She signed and enclosed the letter, and wrote the address. 
Then, for the first time, an obstacle which she ought to have 
•seen before showed itself, standing straight in her way. 


THE FOOTSTEP IN THE CORIUDOR. 177 

Tliere was no time to forward her letter in the ordinary man- 
ner by post. It must be taken to its destination by a private 
messenger. Lady Janet’s servants had hitherto, been one and 
all at her disposal. Could she presume to employ them on her 
own affairs, when she might be dismissed from tlie house, a 
disgraced woman, in half an hour’s time 1 Of the two alterna- 
tives, it seemed better to take her chance, and present herself 
at the Refuge, without asking leave first. 

Wiiile she was still considering the question, she was startled 
by a knock at her door. On opening it, she admitted Lady 
Janet’s maid with a morsel of folded paper in her had. 

“ From my lady miss,” said the woman, giving her the note. 
“ There is no answer.” 

Mercy stopped her, as she was about to leave the room. The 
appearance of the maid suggested an inquiry to her. She asked 
if any of the servants were likely to be going into town that 
afternoon 'I 

“ Yes, miss. One of the grooms is going on horseback, with 
a message to her ladyship’s coachrnaker.” 

The Refuge was close by the coachmaker’s place of business. 
Under the circumstances, Mercy was emboldened to make use 
of the man. 1 1 was a pardonable liberty to employ his services 
now. • 

“ Will you kindly give the groom that letter for me ? ” she 
said. “It will not take him out of his way. He has only to 
deliver it — nothing more.” 

The woman willingly complied with the request. Left once 
more by herself, Mercy looked at the little note which had been 
placed in her hands. 

It was the first time that her benefactress had employed this 
formal method of communicating with her when they wgye 
both in the same house What did such a departure from estab- 
lished habits mean ? Had she received her notice of dismis- 
sal ? Had Lady Janet’s quick intelligence found its way al- 
ready to a suspicion of the truth 1 Mercy’s nerves were un- 
strung. She trembled pitiably as she opened the unfolded 
nota 

It began without a form of address, and it ended without a 
signature. It ran thus : 

“ I must request you to delay for a little while the explana- 
. L 


178 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


tion which you have promised me. At my age, painful surprises 
are very trying things. I must have time to compose myself, 
before I can hear what you have to say. You shall not be kept 
longer than I can help. In the meanwhile everything will go 
on as usual. My nephew Julian, and Horace Holmcroft, and 
the lady whom I found in the dining-room, will, by my desire, 
remain in the house until I am able to meet them, and to meet 
you again.” 

There the note ended. To what conclusion did it point ? 

Had Lady Janet really guessed the truth ? or had she only 
surmised that her adopted daughter was connected in some 
discreditable manner with the mystery of “ Mercy Merrick ” t 
The line in which she referred to the intruder in the dining* 
room as “ the lady,” showed very remarkably that her opin- 
ions had undergone a change in that quarter. But was the 
phrase enough of itself to justify the inference that she had ac- 
tually anticipated the nature of Mercy’s confession 1 It was 
not easy to decide that doubt at the moment — and it proved to 
be equally difficult to throw any light on it at an afterrtime. 
To the end of her life. Lady Janet resolutely refused to commu- 
nicate to any one the conclusions which she might have pri- 
vately formed, the griefs which she might have secretly stifled, 
on that memorable day. 

Amid much, however, which was beset with uncertain ity, 
.one thing at least was clear. The time at Mercy’s disposal in 
„.her own room, had been indefinitely prolonged by Mercy’s bene- 
factress. Hours might pass before the disclosures to which 
she stood committed would be expected from her. In those 
hours she might surely compose her mind sufficiently to be able 
to write her letter of confession to Julian Gray. 

Once more she placed the sheet of paper before her. Best- 
ing her head on her hand as she sat at the table, she tried to 
trace her way through the labyrinth of the past, beginning with 
the day when she had met Grace Roseberry in the French cot- 
tage, and ending with the day which had brought them face to 
face, for the second time, in the dining-room at Mablethorpe 
House. 

The chain of events began to unroll itself in her mind clearlv, 
link by link. 

She remai’ked, as she pursue 1 the retrospect, how strangly 




THE FOOTSTEP IN THE CORRIDOE. 179 

Chance or Fate had paved the way for the act of personation 
in the first place. 

If they had met under ordinary circumstances, neither Mercy 
nor Grace would have trusted each other with the confidences 
which had been exchanged between them. As the event had 
happened, they had come together, under those extraordinary 
circumstances of common trial and common peril, in a strange 
country, which would especially predispose two women of the 
same nation to open their hearts to each other. In no other 
way^ould ]\Iercy have obtained at a first interview that fatal 
knowledge of Grace’s position and Grace’s affairs which had 
placed temptation before her, as the necessary consequence that 
followed the bursting of the German shell. 

Advancing from this point, through the succeeding series of 
events which had so naturally, and yet so strangely, favoured 
the perpetration of the fraud, Mercy reached the latter period 
when Grace had followed her to England. Here again, she re- 
marked, in the second place, how Chance, or Fate, had once 
more paved the way for that second meeting which had con- 
fronted them with one another at Mablethorpe House. 

She had, as she well remembered, attended at a certain as- 
sembly (convened by a charitable society) in the character of 
Lady Janet’s representative, at Lady J anet’s own request. For 
that reason, she had been al>sent from the house when Grace 
had entered it. If her return had been delayed by a few min- 
utes only, J ulian would have had time to take Grace out of 
the room ; and the terrible meeting which had stretched Mercy 
senseless on the floor would never have taken place. As the 
event had happened, the period of her absence had been fatally 
shortened, by what appeared at the time to be the commonest 
possible occurrence. The persons assembled at the society’s 
room had disagreed so seriously on the business which had 
brought them together, as to render it necessary to take the or- 
dinary course of proceeding to a future day. And Chance, or 
Fate, had so timed that adjournment as to bring Mercy back 
into the dining-room exactly at the moment w’hen Grace Rose- 
berry insisted on being confronted with the woman who had 
taken her place. 

She had never yet seen the circumstances m this sinister 
light. She was alone in her room, at a crisis in her life. She 


180 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


was worn and weakened by emotions wliicli had shaken her to 
the soul. 

Little by little, she felt the enervatins: influences let loose on 
her, in her lonely position, by her new train of thouglit. Little 
by little her heart began to sink under the stealthy chill of su- 
perstitious dread. Vaguely horrible presentiments throbbed in 
her with her pulses, flowed through her with her blood. Mys- 
tic oppressions of hidden disaster hovered over her in the at- 
mosphere of the room. The cheerful candlelight turned traitor 
to her and grew dim. Supernatural murmurs trembled round 
the house in the moaning of the winter wind. She was afraid 
to look behind her. On a sudden, she felt her cold hands cov- 
ering her face, without knowing when she had lifted them to 
it, or why. 

Still helpless under the horror that held her, she suddenly 
heard footsteps — a man’s footsteps — in the corridor outside. 
At other times the sound would have startled her : now, it 
broke the spell. The footsteps suggested life, companionship, 
human interposition — no matter of what sort. Siie mechani- 
cally took up her pen ; she found herself beginning to remem- 
ber her letter to J ulian Gray. 

At the same moment the footsteps stopped outside her door. 
The man knocked. 

She still felt shaken. She was hardly mistress of herself yet. 
A faint cry of alarm escaped her at the sound of the knock. 
Before it could be repeated she had rallied her courage, and had 
opened the door. 

The man in the corridor was Horace Holmcroft. 

His ruddy complexion had turned pale. His hair (of which 
he was especially careful at other times) was in disorder. The 
superficial polish of his manner was gone ; the undisguised man, 
sullen, distrustful, irritated to the last degree of endurance, 
showed through. He looked at her with a w^atchfully-suspici- 
ous eye ; he spoke to her without preface or apology, in a coldly 
angry voice. 

“ Are you aware,” he asked, Oi. what is going on down- 
stairs r’ 

“ I have not left my room,” she answered. “ I know that 
Lady Janet has deferred the explanation which I had promised 
to give her, and I know no more.” 


i 


THE FOOTSTEP IN THE CORRIDOR. 


181 


f “ Has nobody told you what Lady Janet did after you left 
< us ? Has nobody told you that she placed her own boudoir at 
■ , the disposal of the very woman whom she had ordered half an 
' hour before to leave the house 1 Do you really not know that 
Mr Julian Gray has himself conduct^ this suddenly-honoured 
^ guest to her place of retirement ? and that I am left alone in 
y the midst of these changes, contradictions and mysteries — the 
only person who is kept out in the dark 1 ” 

“ It is surely needless to ask me these questions,” said 
; Mercy, gently. “ Who could possilly have told me what was 
, going on below stairs before you knocked at my door 1 ” 

: He looked at her with an ironical affectation of surprise. 

“ You are strangely forgetful to-day,” he said. “ Surely 
^ your friend Mr. J ulian Gray might have told you ? I am 
astonished to hear he has not had his private interview yet.” 

' “I don’t understand you, Horace,” 

^ “ I don’t want you to understand me,” he retorted irritably. 

: “The proper person to understand me is Julian Gray. I look 
to him to account to me for the confidential relations which 
seem to have been established between you behind my back. 
' He has avoided me thus far, but I shall find my way to him 

: yet”. 

His manner threatened more than his words expressed. 

• In Mercy’s nervous condition at the moment, it suggested to 
. her that he might attempt to fasten a quarrel on Julian Gray. 
“ You are entirely mistaken,” she said warmly. “ You are 
ungratefully doubting your best and truest friend. I say no- 
, thing of myself You will soon discover why I patiently sub- 
mit to suspicions which other women would resent as an in- 
sult.” 

' “ Let me discover it at once. Now. Without wasting a 

; moment more.” 

There had hitherto been some little distance between them. 
- Mercy had listened, waiting on the threshold of her door; 
5 Horace had spoken standing against the opposite wall Oi the 
t corridor. When he said his last words, he suddenly stepped 

1 forward, and (with something imperative in his gesture) laid 
f his hand on her arm. The strong grasp of it almost hurt her. 

2 She struggled to release herseh. 

t “ Let me go !” she said. “ What do you mean V” 
r- He dropped her arm as suddenly as he had taken it. 


182 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


**Yon shall know what I mean,” he replied. woman 

who has grossly outraged and insulted you — whose only excuse 
is that she is mad — is detained in the house at your desire, 

I might almost say at your command, when the police officer 
is waiting to take her away. I had a right to know what this 
means. lam engaged to Marry you. If you won’t trust other 
people, you are bound to explain yourself to Me. I refuse to 
wait Lady Janet’s convenience. I insist (if you force me to 
say so) I insist on knowing the real nature of your connection 
with this affair. You have obliged me to follow you here ; it 
is my only opportunity of speaking to you. You avoid me ; 
you shut yourself up from me in your own room. I am not 
your husband yet — I have no right to follow you in. But 
there are other rooms open to us. The library is at our dis- 
posal, and I will take care that we are not interrupted. I am 
now going there, and I have a last question to ask. You are 
to be my wife in a week’s time : will you take me into your 
confidence or not ? ” 

To hesitate was, in this case, literally to be lost. Mercy’s 
sense of justice told her that Horace claimed no more than his 
due. She answered instantly. 

“ I will follow you to the library, Horace, in five minutes.” 

Her prompt and frank compliance with his wishes surprised 
and touched him. He took her hand. 

She had endured all that his angry sense of injury could say. 
His gratitude wounded her to the quick. The bitterest mo- 
ment she had felt yet was the moment in which he raised her 
hand to his lips, and murmured tenderly, “ My own true 
Grace ! ” She could only sign to him to leave her, and hurry 
back into her own room. 

Her first feeling, when she found herself alone again, was 
wonder — wonder that it should never have occurred to her, 
until he himself had suggested it, that her betrothed husband 
had the foremost right to her confession. Her horror at own- 
ing to either of them that she had cheated them out of their 
love, had hitherto placed Horace and Lady Janet on the same 
level. She now saw for the first time, that there was no com- 
parison between the claims they respectively had on her. She 
owed an allegiance to Horace, to which Lady Janet could assert 
no right. Cost what it might to avow the truth to him with 
her own lips, the cruel sacrifice must be mad© 


THE FOOTSTEP IN THE CORRIDOR. 


183 


Without a moment’s hesitation she put away her writing 
materials. It amazed her that she should ever have thought 
of using Julian Gray as an interpreter between the man to 
whom she was betrothed and herself Julian’s sympathy (she 
thought) must have made a strong impression on her indeed, 
to blind her to a duty which was beyond all compromise, which 
admitted of no dispute ! 

She had asked for five minutes delay before she followed 
H orace. It was too long a time. 

Her one chance of finding courage to crush him with the 
dreadful revelation of who she really was, of what she had 
lealiy done, was to plunge headlong into the disclosure with- 
out giving herself time to think. The shame of it would over- 
power her if she gave herself time to think. 

She turned to the door, to follow him at once. 

Even at that trying moment, the most ineradicable of all a 
woman’s instincts — the instinct of self-respect — brought her to 
a pause. She had passed through more than one terrible trial 
since she had dressed to go downstairs. Remembering this, she 
stopped mechanically, retraced her steps, and looked at herself 
ill the glass. 

There was no motive of vanity in what she now did. The 
action was as unconscious as if she had buttoned an unfastened 
glove, or shaken out a crumpled dress. Not the faintest idea 
crossed her mind of looking to see if her beauty might still 
plead for her, and of trying to set it off at its best. 

A momentary smile, the most weary, the most hopeless that 
ever saddened a woman’s face, appeared in the reflection which 
her mirror gave her back. “ Haggard, ghastly, old before my 
time ! ” she said to herself. “ Well ! better so. He will feel it 
less — he will not regret me.” 

With that thought she went downstairs to meet him in the 
library. 


184 


THE KEW MAGDALEN. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE MAN IN THE DINING-KOOM. 

f N the great emergencies of life we feel, or we act, as our 
dispositions incline us. But we never think. Mercy’s 
mind was a blank as she descended the stairs. On her way 
down, she was conscious of nothing but the one headlong im- 
pulse to get to the library in the shortest possible space of 
time. Arrived at the door, the impulse capriciously left her. 
She stopped on the mat, wondering why she had hurried her- 
self, with time to spare. Her heart sank ; the fever of her ex- 
citment changed suddenly to a chill, as she faced the closed 
door, and asked herself the question. Dare I go in ? 

Her own hand answered her. She lifted it to turn the 
handle of the lock. It dropped again helplessly at her side. 

The sense of her own irresolution wrung from her a low ex- 
clamation of despair. Faint as it was, it had aparently not 
passed unheard. The door was opened from within — and 
Horace stood before her. 

He drew aside to let her pass into the room. But he never 
followed her in. He stood in the doorway, and spoke to her, 
keeping the door open with his hand. 

“ Do you mind waiting here for me 1” he asked. 

She looked at him, in vacant surprise, doubting whether she 
had heard him aright. 

“ It will not be for long,” he went on. I am far too anxious 
to hear what you have to tell me to submit to any needless delays. 
The truth is, I have had a message from Lady Janet.” 

(From Lady Janet! What could Lady Janet want with 
him, at a time when she was bent on composing herself in the 
retirement of her own room ?) 

“ I ought to have said two messages,” Horace proceeded. The 
first was given to me on my way downstairs. Lady Janet 
wished to see me immediately. I sent an excuse. A second 
message followed. Lady Janet would accept no excuse. If I 


THE MAN IN THE DINING-ROOM. 


185 


refused to go to her I should be merely obliging her to come to 
me. It is impossible to risk being interrupted in that way ; 
my only alternative is to get the thing over as soon as possible. 
Do you mind waiting 

“ Certainly not. Have you any idea of what Lady Janet 
wants with you 

“ No. Whatever it is, she shall not keep me long away from 
you. You will be quite alone here ; I have warned the ser- 
vants not to show any one in. W ith those words, he left her. 

Mercy’s first sensation was a sensation of relief -soon lost in 
a feeling of shame at the weakness which could welcome any 
temporary relief in such a position as hers. The emotion thus 
roused, merged, in its turn, into a sense of impatient regret. 
“ But for Lady Janet’s message,” she thought to herself, “ I 
might have known my fate by this time !” 

The slow minutes followed each other drearih". She paced 
to and fro in the library, faster and faster, under the intolerable 
irritation, the maddening uncertainity of her own suspense. 
Ere long, even the spacious room seemed to be too small for 
her. The sober monotony of the long book-lined shelves op- 
pressed and offended her. She threw open the door which led 
into the dining-room, and dashed in, eager for a change of ob- 
jects, athirst for more space and more air. 

At the first step, she checked herself ; rooted to the spot, un- 
der a sudden revulsion of feeling which quieted her in an in- 
stant. 

The room was only illuminated by the waning firelight. A 
man was obscurely visible, seated on the sofa, with his elbows 
on his knees and his head resting on his hands. He looked 
up, as the open door let in the light from the library lamps. 
The mellow glow reached his face, and revealed Julian Gray. 

Mercy was standing with her back to the light ; her face be- 
ing necessarily hidden in deep shadow. He recognized her by 
her figure, and by the attitude into which it unconsciously fell. 
That unsought grace, that lithe long beauty of line belonged 
to but one woman in the house. He rose, and approached 
her. 

“ I have been wishing to see you,” he said, and hoping that 
accident might bring about some such meeting as this.” 

He offered her a chair. Mercy hesitated before she took 


186 


TEE NEW MAGDALEN. 


her seat. This was their firat meeting alone, since Lady Janet 
had interrupted her at the moment when she was about to con- 
fide to Julian the melancholy story of the past. Was he anxi- 
ous to seize the opportunity of returning to her confession 
The terms in v^diich he had addressed her seemed to imply it 
She put the question to him in plain words. 

“I feel the deepest interest in hearing all that you have still 
to confide to me,” he answered. ‘‘ But anxious as I may be, I 
will not hurry you. I will wait, if you wish it.” 

“ 1 am afraid I must own that I do wish it,” Mercy rejoined. 
“ Not on my account — but because my time is at the disposal 
of Horace Holmcroft. I expect to see him in a few minutes.” 

“ Could you give me those few minutes ?” Julian asked. “ I 
have something, on my side, to say to you, which I think you 
ought to know, before you see any one — Horace himself in- 
cluded.” 

He spoke with a certain depression of tone which was not 
associated with her previous experience of him. His face look- 
ed prematurely old and care-worn, in the red light of the fire. 
Something had plainly happened to sadden and to disappoint 
him, since they had last met. 

“ I willingly offer you all the time that I have at my own 
command,” Mercy replied. Does what you have to tell me 
relate to Lady Janet ?” 

He gave her no direct reply. “ What I have to tell you of 
Lady Janet,” he said gravely, is soon told. So far as she is 
concerned, you have nothing more to dread. Lady Janet 
knows all.” 

Even the heavy weight of oppression caused by the impend- 
ing interview with Horace failed to hold its place in Mercy’s 
mind, when Julian answered her in these words. 

‘‘ Come into the lighted room,” she said faintly. “ It is too 
terrible to hear you say that in the dark.” 

Julian followed her into the library. Her limbs trembled un- 
der her. Shedropp ^ into a chair, and shrank under his great 
bright eyes, as he stood by her side, looking sadly down on 
her. 

“ Lady Janet knows all !” she repeated, with her head on her 
breast, and the tears falling slowly over her cheeks. “ Have 
you told her V* 


THE MAN IN THE DINING-HOOM- 187 

“I have said nothing to Lady Janet or to any one. Your 
confidence is a sacred confidence to me, until you have spoken 
first.” 

“ Has Lady Janet said anything to you V’ 

‘‘ Not a word. She has looked at you with the vigilant eyes 
of a dove ; she has listened to you with the quick hearing of love 
— and she has found her own way to the truth. She will not 
speak of it to me — she will not speak of it to any living crea- 
ture. I only know now how dearly she loved you. In spite of 
herself she clings to you still. Her life, poor soul, has been a 
barren one ; unworthy, miserably unworthy, of such a nature 
as hers. Her marriage was loveless and childless. She has had 
admirers; but never, in the higher sense of the word, a friend. 
All the best years of her life have been wasted in the unsatisfied 
longing for something to love. At the end of her life You 
have filled the void. Her heart has found its youth again, 
through You. At her age — at any age — is such a tie as this to 
be rudely broken at the mere bidding of circumstanoes ? No ! 
She will suffer anything, risk anything, forgive anything, rather 
than own, even to herself, that she has been deceived in you. 
There is more than her happiness at stake ; there is pride, a 
noble pride, in such love as hers, which will ignore the plainest 
discovery and deny the most unanswerable truth.' ! am firmly 
convinced — from my own knowledge of her character, and 
from what I have observed in her to day — that she will find 
some excuse for refusing to hear your confession. And more 
than that, I believe (if the exertion of her influence can do it), 
that she will leave no means untried of pr eventing you from 
acknowledging your true position here to any living creature. 
I take a serious responsibility on myself in telling you this — 
\nd I don’t shrink from it. You ought to know, and you shall 
rnow, what trials and what temptations may yet lie before you.” 

lie paused — leaving Mercy time to compose herself, if she 
jvished to speak to him. 

She felt that there was a necessity for her speaking to him. 
He was plainly not awiire that Lady Janet had always written 
to her to defer her promised explanation. This circumstance 
was in itself a confirmation of the opinion which he had ex- 
pressed. She ought to mention it to him ; she tried to mention 
it to him. But she was not equal to the effort. The few 


188 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


simple words in which he had touched on the tie that bound 
Lady Janet to her, had wrung her heart. Her tears choked 
her. She could only sign to him to go on. 

“ You may wonder at my speaking so positively,” he con- 
tinued, “ with nothing better than my own conviction to justify 
me. I can only say that I have watched Lady Janet too close- 
ly to feel any doubt. I saw the moment in which the truth 
flashed on her, as plainly as I now see you. It did not disclose 
itself gradually — it burst on her, as it burst on me. She sus- 
pected nothing — she was frankly indignant at your sudden in- 
terference- and your strange language — until the time came in 
which you pledged yourself to produce Mercy Merrick. Then 
(and then only) the truth broke on her mind, and trebly revealed 
to her in your words, your voice, and your look. Then (and 
then only) I saw a marked change come over her, and remain 
in her while she remained in the room. I dread to think of what 
she may do in the first reckless despair of the discovery 
that she has made. I distrust — thougli God knows I am not 
naturally a suspicious man — the most apparently trifling events 
that are now taking place about us. You have held nobly to 
your resolution to own the truth. Prepare yourself, before 
the evening is over, to be tried and tempted again.” 

Mercy lifted her head. Fear took the place of grief in her 
eyes, as they rested in startled inquiry on Julian’s face. 

“ How is it possible that temptation can come to me now T* 
she asked. 

“ I will leave it to events to answer that question,” he said. 

You will not have long to wait. In the meantime, I have 
put you on your guard.” He stooped, and spoke his next 
words earnestly, close at her ear. “ Hold fast by the admirable 
courage which you have shown thus far,” he went on. “ Suffer 
anything, rather than suffer the degradation of yourself. Be 
the woman whom I once spoke of — the woman I still have in 
my mind — who can nobly reveal the noble nature that is in 
her. And never forget this — my faith in you is as fii-m as 
ever !” 

She looked at him proudly and gratefully. 

“I am pledged to justify your faith in me,” she said. “I 
have put it out of my own power to yield, Horace has my 
promise that I will explain everything to him, in this room.” 

Julian started 


THE MAN IN THE DINING- LOOM. 189 

Has Horace himself asked it of you 'i” he inquired. “ He, 
at least, has no suspicion of the truth.” 

“Horace has appealed to my duty to him as his betrothed 
wife,” she answered. “ He has the first claim to my confidence 
— he resents my silence, and he has a right to resent it. Terri- 
ble as it will be to open his eyes to the truth, I must do it if 
ho asks me.” 

She was looking at Julian while she spoke. The old long- 
ing to associate with the hard trial of the confession the one 
man who had felt for her, and believed in her, revived under 
another form. If she could only know, while she was saying 
the fatal words to Horace, that Julian was listening too, she 
would be encouraged to meet the worst that could happen ! As 
the idea crossed her mind, she observed that Julian was look- 
ing towards the door through which they had lately passed. 
In an instant she saw the means to her end. Hardly waiting 
to hear the few kind expressions of sym[)athy and approval 
which he addressed to her, she hinted timidly at the proposal 
which she had now to make to him. 

“ Are you going back into the next room she asked. 

“Not if you object to it,” he replied. 

“ T don’t object. I want you to be there.” 

“ After Horace has joined you ?” 

“Yes. After Horace has joined me.” 

“ Do you wish to see me when it is over ?” 

She summoned her resolution, and told him frankly what 
she had in her mind. 

“ I want you to be near me while I am speaking to Horace,” 
she said. “It will give me courage if I can feel that I am 
speaking to you as well as to him. I can count on yowr sym- 
pathy — and sympathy is so precious to me now ! Am I ask- 
ing too much, if 1 ask you to leave the door unclosed, when 
you go back to the dining-room 'I Think of the dreadful trial 
— to him as well as to me ! I am only a woman ; I am afraid 
I may sink under it, if I have no friend near me. And I have 
no friend but you.” 

In those simple words she tried her powers of persuasion on 
him, for the first time. 

Between perplexity and distress, Julian was, for the moment 
at a loss how to answer her. The love for Mercy which he 


190 


THE NEW MAGDxVLEN. 


dared not acknowledge, was as vital a feeling in him as the 
faith in her which he had been free to avow. To refuse any 
thing that she asked of him in her sore need — and, more even 
than that, to refuse to hear the confession which it had been 
her first impulse to make to Am— these were cruel sacrifices to 
his sense of what was due to Horace and of what was due to 
himself. But shrink as he might, even from the appearance 
of deserting her, it was impossible for him (except under a 
reserve which was almost equivalent to a denial) to grant her 
request. 

“ All that I can do, I will do,” he said. “ The door shall be 
left unclosed, and I will remain in the next room, on this con- 
dition — that Horace knows as well as you. I should be un- 
worthy of your confidence in me If I consented to be a listen t 
on any other terms. You understand that, I am sure, as well 
as I do.” 

She had never thought of her proposal to him in this light. 
AVomaidike, she had thought of nothing but the comfort of 
having him near her. She understood him now. A faint flush 
of shame rose on her pale diet ks, as she thanked him. He 
delicately relieved her from her embarrassment by putting a 
question which naturally occurre<] under the circumstances. 

“ Where is Horace all this time ?” he asked. “ Why is he 
not here 

“ He has been called away,” she answ^ered, “ by a message 
from Lady Janet.” 

The reply more then astonished Julian ; it seemed almost to 
alarm him. He returned to Mercy’s chair; he said to her 
eagerly, “ Are you sure 1 ” 

“ Horace himself told me that Lady Janet had insisted on 
seeing him.” 

“ When ?” 

‘‘Not long ago. He asked me to wait for him here, while 
he went upstairs.” 

“ J ulian’s face darkened ominously. 

“ This confirms my worst fears,” he said. “ Have you had 
any communication with Lady Janet 

Mercy replied by showing him his aunt’s note. Ho read it 
carefully through. 

“ Did I not tell you,” he said, “ that she would find some 


THE RIAN IN THE DINING-ROOM. 


191 


^•■^ciise for refusing to liear your confession ? She begins by 
uclaying it, simply to gain time for something else which she 
has it in her mind to do. When did you receive this notel 
6 ood atier you went upstairs 1" 

“ About a quarter of an hour after, as well as I can guess.” 

** Do you know what happened down here, after you left 
us?” 

“ Horace told me that Lady Janet had offered Miss Rose- 
berry the use of her boudoir.” 

“ Any more ?” 

“He said that you had shown her the way to the room. 

“ Did he tell you what happened after that ?” 

“No.” 

“ Then I must tell you. If I can do nothing mor^ in this 
serious stace of things, I can at least prevent your being taken 
by sui prise. In the first place, it is right you should know 
that I had a motive for accompanying Miss Roseberry to the 
boudoir. I was anxious (for your sake) to make some appeal 
to her better self — if she had any better self to address. I own 
I ha<l doubts of my success — ^judging by what I had already 
seen of her. My doubts were confirmed. In the ordinary in- 
tercourse of life, I should merely have thought her a common- 
j)!ace uninteresting woman. Seeing her as I saw her while we 
were alone — in other words, penetrating below the surface — I 
have never, in all my sad experience, met with such a hope- 
lessly narrow, mean, and low nature as hers. Understanding, 
as she could not fail to do, what the sudden change in Lady 
Janet’s behaviour towards her really meant, her one idea was 
to take the cruellest possible advantage of it. So far- from 
feeling any consideration for you, she was only additionally em- 
bittered towards you. She protested against your being per- 
mitted to claim the merit of placing her in her right position 
here, by your own voluntary avowal of the truth. She insist- 
ed on publicly denouncing you, and on forcing Lady Janet to 
dismiss you, unheard, before the whole household. “ Now I 
can have my revenge I At last lady Janet is afraid of me 1” 
Those were her own words — I am almost ashamed to re- 
peat them — those, on my honour, were her own words ! Every 
possible humiliation to be heaped on you; no consideration 
to be shown for Lady Janet’s age and Lady Janet’s position ; 


192 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


nothing, absolutely nothing, to be allowed to interfere with 
Miss Koseberry’s vengeance and Miss Koseberry’s triumph ! 
There is this woman’s shameless view of wliat is due to her, as 
stated by herself in the plainest terms. I kept my temper ; I 
did all I could to bring her to a better frame of mind. I 
might as well have pleaded — I won’t say with a savage ; sav- 
ages are sometimes accessible to remonstrance, if you know how 
to reach them — I might as well have pleaded with a hungry 
animal to abstain from eating while food was within its reach, 
I had just given up the hopeless effort in disgust, when Lady 
Janet’s maid appeared with a message for Miss Roseberry from 
her mistress : ‘ Aly Lady’s compliments, ma’am, and she will 

be glad to see you at your earliest convenience, in her room.’ ” 

Another surprise ! Grace Roseberry invited to an interview 
with Lady Janet 1 It would have been impossible to believe 
it, if Julian had not heard the invitation given wdth his own 
ears. 

“ She instantly rose,” Julian proceeded. ‘ I won’t keep 
her ladsyship waiting a moment,’ she said ; ‘show me the way.’ 
She signed to the maid to go out of the room first, and then turn- 
ed round and spoke to me from the door. I despair of describ- 
ing the insolent exultation of her manner — I can only repeat 
her words : ‘ This is exactly what I wanted I I had intended 

to insist on seeing Lady Janet ; she saves me the trouble ; 
I am infinitely obliged to her.’ With that, she nodded to me 
and closed the door. I have not seen her, I have not heard 
of her, since. For all I know, she may be still with my aunt, 
and Horace may have found her there when he entered the 
room.” 

“ What can Lady Janet have to say to her ?” Mercy asked, 
eagerly. 

“ It is impossible even to guess. When you found me in 
the dining-room I was considering that very question. I can- 
not imagine that any neutral ground can exist, on which it is 
possible for Lady Janet and this woman to meet. In her pre- 
sent frame ' mind, she will in all probability insult Lady 
Janet before she has been five minutes in the room. I own 1 
am completely puzzled. The one conclusion I can arrive at is, 
that the note which my aunt sent to you, the private interview 
with Miss Roseberry which has followed, and the summons to 


THE MAN IN THE DINING-ROOM. 


193 


Horace which has succeeded in its turn, are all links in the 
same chain of events, and are all tending to that renewed 
temptation against which I have already warned you.” 

Mercy held up her hand for silence. She looked towards 
the door that opened on the hall ; had she heard a footstep out- 
side ? No. All was still. Not a sign yet of Horace’s ’return. 

“ Oh V’ she exclaimed, “ what would I not give to know 
what is going on upstairs V* 

“ You will soon know it now,” said Juliai^. It is- impossi- 
ble that our present uncertainty can last much longer.” 

He turned away, intending to go back to the room in which 
she had found him. Looking at her situation from a man’s 
point of view, he naturally assumed that the best service he 
could now render to Mercy would be to leave her to prepare 
herself for the interview with Horace. Before he had taken 
three steps away from her, she showed him the difference be- 
tween the woman’s point of view and the man’s. The idea of 
considering beforehand what she should say never entered her 
mind. In her horror of being left by herself at that critical 
moment, she forgot every other consideration. Even the warn- 
ing remembrance of Horace’s jealous distrust of Julian passed 
away from her, for the moment, as completely as if it never had 
a place in her memory. “ Don’t leave me !” she cried. “ I can’t 
wait here alone. Come back — come back 1” 

She rose impulsively, while she spoke, as if to follow him in- 
to the dining-room, if he persisted in leaving her. 

“ A momentary expression of doubt crossed Julian’s face as 
he retraced his steps and signed to her to be seated again. 
Could she be depended on (he asked himself) to sustain the 
coming test of her resolution, when she had not courage enough 
to wait for events in a room by herself ? Julian had yet to learn 
that a woman’s courage rises with the greatness of the emer- 
gency. Ask her to accompany you through a field in which 
some harmless cattle happen to be grazing, and it is doubtful, 
in nine cases out of ten, if she will do it. Ask her, as one of 
the passengers in a ship on fire, to help in setting an example 
of composure to the rest, and it is certain, in nine cases out of 
ten, that she will do it. As soon as Julian had taken a chair 
near her, Mercy was calm again. 

“ Are you sure of your resolution ?” he asked, 

M 


194 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


“ I am certain of it,” she answered, “ as Ipng as you don’t 
leave me by myself.” 

The talk between them dropped there. They sat together 
in silence, with their eyes fixed on the door, waiting for Horace 
to come in. 

After the lapse of a few minutes, their attention was attract- 
ed by a sound outside in the grounds. A carriage of some 
sort was plainly audible, approaching the house. 

The carriage stopped ; the bell rang ; the front door was 
opened. Had a visitor arrived 1 No voice could be heard 
making inquiries. No footsteps but the servant’s footsteps 
crossed the hall. A long pause followed ; the carriage remain- 
ing at the door. Instead of bringing some one to the house, it 
had apparently arrived to take some one away. 

The next event was the return of the servant to the front 
door. They listened again. Again, no second footstep was 
audible. The door was closed ; the servant recrossed the hall ; 
the carriage was driven away. Judging by sounds alone, no 
one had arrived at the house, and no one had left the house. 

Julian looked at Mercy. Do you winderstand this ? ” he 
asked. 

She silently shook her head. 

“If any person has gone away in the carriage,” Julian went 
on, “ that person can hardly have been a man, or we must have 
heard him in the hall.” 

The conclusion which her companion had just drawn from 
the noiseless departure of the supposed visitor, raised a sudden 
doubt in Mercy’s mind. 

“ Go, and inquire ! ” she said, eagerly. 

Julian left the room ; and returned again, after a brief ab- 
sence, with signs of grave anxiety in his face and manner. 

“ I told you I dreaded the most trifling events that were 
passing about us,” he said. “ An event, which is far from be- 
ing trifling, has just happened. The carriage which we heard 
approaching along the drive turns out to have been a cab sent 
for from the house. The person who has gone away in it” 

“ Is a woman, as you supposed ? ” 

“Yes.” 

Mercy rose excitedly from her chair. 

“ It can’t be Grace Roseberry 1 ” she exclaimed. 


THE MAN IN THE DINING-HOOM. 195 

is Grace Roseberry.” 

“ Has she gone away alone 
“ Alone — after an interview with Lady Janet** 

“ Did she go willingly 
She herself sent the servant for the cab.” 

“What does it mean?” 

“ It is useless to inquire. We shall soon know.” 

They resumed their seats ; waiting, as they had waited al- 
ready, with their eyes on the library door. 


THE ISEVV MAGDALEN. 


IdG 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

LADY JANET AT BAY. 

narrative leaves Julian and Mercy for awhile, and 
ascending to the upper regions of the house, follows 
the march of events in Lady Janet’s room. 

The maid had delivered her mistress’s note to Mercy, and 
had gone away again on her second errand to Grace Roseberry 
in the boudoir. Lady Janet was seated at her w'riting table, 
waiting for the appearance of the woman whom she had sum- 
moned to her presence. A single lamp diffused its mild light 
over the books, pictures, and busts round her, leaving the 
farther end of the room, in which the bed was placed, almost 
lost in obscurity. The works of art were all portraits ; the 
books were all presentation copies from the authors. It was 
Lady Janet’s fancy to associate her bedroom with memorials 
of the various persons whom she had known in the long 
course of her life — all of them more or less distinguished ; 
most of them, by this time, gathered with the dead. 

She sat near her writing table, lying back in her easy chair 
— the living realisation of the picture which Julian’s description 
had drawn. Her eyes were fixed on a photograph likeness of 
Mercy, which was so raised upon a little gilt easel as to enable 
her to contemplate it under the full light of the lamp. The 
bright mobile old face was strangely and sadly changed. The 
brow was fixed ; the mouth was rigid ; the whole face would 
have been like a mask, moulded in the hardest forms of pas- 
sive resistance and suppressed rage, but for the light and life 
still thrown over it by the eyes. There was something unut- 
terably touching in the keen hungering tenderness of the look 
which they fixed on the portrait intensified by an underlying 
expression of fond and patient reproach. The danger which 
Julian so wisely dreaded was in the rest of the face; the love 
which he had so truly described was in the eyes alone. They 
still spoke of the c/ueHy-profaned affectioa which had been 


LADY JANET AT BAT. 


197 


the one immeasurable joy, the one inexhaustible hope, of Lady 
Janet’s closing life. The brow expressed nothing but her ob- 
stinate determination to stand by the wreck of that joy,’ to re- 
kindle the dead ashes of that hope. The lips were only elo- 
quent of her unflinching resolution to ignore the hateful present 
and to save the sacred- past. “ My idol may be scattered, but 
none of you shall know it. I stop the march of discovery ; I 
extinguish the light of truth. I am deaf to your words, I am 
blind to your proofs. At seventy years old, my idol is my life. 
It shall be my idol still.” 

The silence in the bedroom was broken by a murmuring of 
women’s voices outside the door. 

Lady Janet instantly raised herself in the chair, and snatched 
the photograph off the easel. She laid the portrait face down- 
wards among some papers on the table — then abruptly changed 
her mind, and hid it among the thick folds of lace which 
clothed her neck and bosom. There was a world of love in 
the action itself, and in the sudden softening of the eyes which 
accompanied it. The next moment Lady Janet’s mask was 
on. Any superficial observer who had seen her now, would 
have said, “ This is a hard woman ! ” 

The door was opened by the maid. Grace Roseberry enter- 
ed the room. 

She advanced rapidly, with a defiant assurance in her man- 
ner, and a lofty carriage of her head. She sat down in the 
chair to which Lady Janet silently pointed, with a thump ; she 
returned Lady Janet’s grave bow with a nod and a smile. 
Every movement and every look of the little, worn, white-faced, 
shabbily-dressed woman expressed insolent triumph, and said, 
as if in words, “ My turn has come ! ” 

“ I am glad to wait on your ladyship,” she began, without 
giving Lady Janet an opportunity of speaking first. “ Indeed. 
I should have felt it my duty to request an interview, if you 
had not sent your maid to invite me up here.” 

“ You would have felt it your duty to request an interview % ” 
Lady Janet repeated very quietly. “ Why 

The tone in which that one last word was spoken embarras- 
sed Grace a the outset. It established as gieat a distance be- 
tween Lady Janet and herseli, as if she had been lifted in her 
chair and conveyed bodily to the other end of the room. 


198 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


“ J am surprised that your ladyship should not understand 
me,” she said, struggling to conceal her confusion. “ Especi- 
ally after your kind offer of your own boudoir.” 

Lady Janet remained perfectly unmoved. “ I do not un- 
derstand you,” she answered just as quietly as ever. 

Grace’s temper came to her assistance. She recovered the 
assurance which had marked her first appearance on the scene. 

“ In that case,” she resumed, “ I must enter into particulars, 
in justice to myself. I can place but one interpretation on the 
extraordinary change in your ladyship’s behaviour to me down- 
stairs. The conduct of that abominable woman has, at last, 
opened your eyes to the deception that has been practiced on 
you. For some reason of your own, however, you have not 
yet chosen to recognize me openly. In this painful position 
something is due to my own self-respect. I cannot, and will 
not, permit Mercy Merrick to claim the merit of restoring me to 
my proper place in this house. After what I have suffered, it 
is quite impossible for me to endure that. I should have re- 
quested an interview (if you had not sent for me) for the ex- 
press purpose of claiming this person’s immediate expulsion 
from the house. I claim it now as a proper concession to Me. 
Whatever you or Mr. J ulian Gray may do, J will not tamely 
permit her to exhibit herself as an interesting penitent. It is 
really a little too much to hear this brazen adventuress appoint 
her own time for explaining herself. It is too deliberately in- 
sulting to see her sail out of the room — with a clergyman of the 
Church of England opening the door for her — as if she was lay- 
ing me under an obligation ! I can forgive much. Lady Janet 
— including the terms in which you thought it decent to order 
me out of your house. I am quite willing to accept the offer of 
your boudoir, as the expression on your part of a better frame 
of mind. But even Christian Charity has its limits. The con- 
tinued presence of that wretch under your roof is, you wiD 
permit me to remark, not only a monument of your own weal 
ness but a perfectly insufferable insult to Me.” 

There she stopped abrubtly — not for want of words, but for 
want of a listener. 

Lady Janet was not even pretending to attend to her 
Lady Janet, with a deliberate rudeness entirely foreign to 
her usual habits, was composedly busying herself in arranging the 


LADY JANET AT BAY. 


199 


various papers scattered about the table. Some she tied to- 
gether with little morsels of string ; some she placed under 
paper-weights ; some she deposited in the fantastic pigeon-holes 
of a little Japanese cabinet — working with a placid enjoyment 
of her own orderly occupation, and perfectly unaware, to all 
outward appearance, that any second person was in the room. 
She looked up with her papers in both hands when Grace 
stopped, and said quietly, 

“ Have you done ? ” 

‘‘ Is your ladyship’s purpose in sending for me to treat me 
with studied rudeness ! ” Grace retorted angrily. 

“ My purpose in sending for you is to say something as soon 
as you will allow me the opportunity.” 

The impenetrable composure of that reply took Grace com- 
pletely by surprise. She had no retort ready. In sheer as- 
tonishment she waited silently, with her eyes riveted on the 
mistress of the house. 

Lady Janet put down her papers, and settled herself com- 
fortably in the easy chair, preparatory to opening the interview 
on her side. 

“ The little that I have to say to you,” she began, “ may 
be said in a question. Am I right in supposing that you have 
no present employment, and that a little advance in money 
(delicately offered) would be very acceptable to you t " 

“ Do you mean to insult me, Lady J anet 1 ” 

“ Certainly not. I mean to ask you a question.'* 

“ Your question is an insult.” 

“ My question is a kindness ; if you will only understand it 
as it is intended. I don’t complain of your not understanding 
it. I don’t even hold you responsible lor any one of the many 
breaches of good manners which you have committed since you 
have been in this room. I was honestly anxious to be of some 
service to you, and you have repelled my advances. I am sorry 
Let us drop the subject.” 

Expressing herself with the most perfect temper in those 
terms, Lady Janet resumed the arrangement of her papers, and 
became unconscious once more of the presence of any second 
person in the room. 

Grace opened her lips to reply with the utmost intemjicr- 
ance of an angry woman, and thinking better of it, controlled 


200 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


herself. It was plainly useless to take the violent way with 
Lady Janet Iloy. Her age and her social position were enough 
of themselves to repel any violence. She evidently knew that 
and trusted to it. Grace resolved to meet the enemy on the 
neutral ground of politeness, as the most promising ground that 
she could occupy under present circumstances. 

“ If 1 have said anything hasty, I beg to apologise to your 
ladyship,” she began. “ May’ I ask if your only object in send- 
ing for me was to inquire into my pecuniary affaii-s, with a 
view to assisting me 

“That,” said Lady Janet, “was my only object.’* 

“You had nothing to say to me on the subject of Mercy 
Merrick 

“ jS^othing whatever. I am weary of hearing of Mercy Mer- 
rick. Have you any more questions to ask me ?” 

“ I have one more.” 

“ Yesr 

“ I wish to ask your ladyship whether you propose to recog- 
nize me, in the presence of your household, as the late Colonel 
Roseberry’s daughter 

“ 1 have already recognized you as a lady in embarrassed 
circumstances, who has peculiar claims on my consideration 
and forbearance. If you wish me to repeat those words in the 
presence of the servants (absurd as it is) I am ready to comply 
with your request.” 

Grace’s temper began to get the better of her prudent resolu- 
tions. 

“Lady Janet!” she said; “this won’t do. I must request 
to express yourself plainly. You talk of my peculiar claims 
on your forbearance. What claims do you mean V’ 

“ It will be painful to both of us if we enter into details,” 
replied Lady Janet. “Pray don’t let us enter into details.” 

“1 insist on it, madam.” 

“ Pray don’t insist on it,” 

Grace was deaf to remonstrance. 

“ I ask you in plain words,” she went on, “ do you acknow- 
ledge that you have been deceived by an adventuress wiio has 
personated me 1 Ho you mean to restore me tv my proper place 
in th’s house ?” 

Lady Janet returned to the arrangement of her papers, 

“ Hoes your ladyship refuse to listen to me V 


LADY JANET AT BAT. 


201 


“Lady Janet looked up from her papers as blandly as ever. 

“ If you persist in returning to your delusion,” she said, 
* you will oblige me to persist in returning to my papers.” 

“ What is my delusion, if you please V* 

“ Your delusion is expressed in the questions you have just 
put to me. Your delusion constitutes your peculiar claim on 
my forbearance. Nothing you can say or do will shake my 
forbearance. When I first found you in the dining-room, I 
acted most improperly ; I lost my temper. I did worse ; I was 
foolish enough and imprudent enough to send for a police-offi- 
cer. I owe you every possible atonement (afflicted as you are) 
for treating you in that cruel manner. I offered you the use 
of my boudoir, as part of my atonement. I sent for you, in 
the hope that you would allow me to assist you, as part of my 
atonement. You may behave rudely to me, you may speak 
in the most abusive terms of my adopted daughter ; 1 will sub- 
mit to anything, as part of my atonement. So long as you 
abstain from speaking on one painful subject, I will listen to 
you with the greatest pleasure. Whenever you return to that 
subject I shall return to my papers.” 

Grace looked at Lady Janet with an evil smile. 

“ J begin to understand your ladyship,” she said. “ You 
are ashamed to acknowledge that you have been grossly im- 
posed upon. Your only alternative, of course, is to ignore every- 
thing that has happened. Pray count on my forbearance. I 
am not at all offended — I am merely amused. It is not every day 
that a lady of high rank exhibits herself in such a position as 
yours to an obscure woman like me. Your humane considera- 
tion for me dates, I presume, from the time when your adopted 
daughter set you the example, by ordering the police officer 
out of the room 

Lady Janet’s composure was proof even against this assault 
on it. She gravely accepted Grace’s inquiry as a question ad- 
dressed to her in perfect good faith. 

“ 1 am not at all surpiised,” she replied, “to find that my 
adopted daughter’s interference has exposed her to misrepre 
sentation. She ought to have remonstrated with me privately 
before she interfered. But she has one fault — she is too im- 
pulsive. I have never, in all my experience, met with such a 
warm-hearted person as she is. Always too considerate oi 


202 


THE NEW MAGDAT.EN. 


others ; always too forgetful of herself ! The mere appearance 
of the police officer placed you in a situation to appeal to lier 
compassion, and her impulses carried her away as usual. My 
fault ! All my fault.” 

Grace changed her tone once more. She was quick enough 
to discern that Lady Janet was a match for her with her own 
weapons. 

“We have had enough of this,” she said. “ It is time to bo 
serious. Your adopted daughter (as you call her) is Mercy 
Merrick, — and you know it.” 

Lady Janet returned to her papers. 

“ I am Grace Roseberry, whose name she has stolen, — and 
you know that^ 

Lady Janet went on with her papers. 

Grace got up from her chair. 

“I accept your silence. Lady Janet,” she said, “as an ac- 
knowledgment of your deliberate resolution to suppress the 
truth. You are evidently determined to receive the adven- 
turess as the true woman ; and you don’t scruple to face the 
consequences of that proceeding, by pretending to my face to 
believe that I am mad. I will not allow myself to be im- 
pudently cheated out of my rights in this way. You will hear 
from me again, madam, when the Canadian mail arrives in 
England.” 

She walked towards the door. This time Lady Janet 
answered, as readily and as explicitly as it was possible to 
desire. 

“ I shall refuse to receive your letters,” she said. 

Grace returned a few steps, threateningly. 

“ My letters will be followed by my witnesses,” she pro- 
ceeded. 

“ I shall refuse to receive your witnesses.” 

“ Refuse at your peril. I will appeal to the law 1” 

Lady Janet smiled. 

“I don’t pretend to much knowledge of the subject,” she 
said , “ but I should be surprised, indeed, if I discovered that 
you had any claim on me which the law could enforce. How- 
ever, let us suppose that you can set the law in action. You 
know as well as I do that the only motive power which can 
do that is — money. I am rich ; fees, costs, and all the rest ol 


LADY JANET AT BAY. 


203 


it are matters of no sort of consequence to me. May I ask if 
you are in the same position *?” 

The question silenced Grace So far as money was concern- 
ed, she was literally at the end of her resources. Her only 
friends were friends in Canada. After what she had said to 
him in the boudoir, it would be quite useless to appeal to the 
sympathies of Julian Gray. In the pecuniary sense, and in 
one word, she was absolutely incapable of gratifying her own 
vindictive longings. AikI there sat the mistress of Mablethorpo 
House, perfectly well aware of it. 

Lady Janet pointed to the empty chair. 

“Suppose you sit down again?” she suggested. “The 
course of our interview seems to have brought us back to the 
question that I asked you when you came into my room. In- 
stead of threatening me with the law, suppose you consider the 
propriety of permitLng me to be of some use to you ? I am in 
the habit of assisting ladies in embarrassed circumstances, and 
nobody knows of it but my steward — who keeps the accounts — 
and myself. Once more, let me inquire if a little advance 
of the pecuniary sort (delicately offered) would be acceptable to 
you ?” 

Grace returned slowly to the chair that she had left. She 
stood by it, with one hand gracing the top rail, and with her 
eyes fixed in mocking scrutiny on Lady Janet’s face. 

“ At last your ladyship shows your hand,” she said. “ Hush- 
money !” 

“ You will send me back to my papers, ’’rejoined Lady Janet. 
“ How obstinate you are !” 

Grace’s hand closed tighter and tighter round the rail of 
chair. Without witnesses, without means, without so mi.tR 
as a refuge — thanks to her own coarse cruelties of langua^ *, 
and conduct — in the sympathies of others, the sense of her 
isolation and her helplessness was almost maddening at that 
final moment. A woman of finer sensibilities would have in- 
stantly left the room. Grace’s impenetrably hard and narrow 
mind impelled her to meet the emeigency in a very different 
way. A last base vengeance, to which Lady Janet had volun- 
tarily exposed herself, was still within her reach. “ For the 
present,” she thought, “ there is but one way of being even 
wiiii your ladyship. I can cost you as much as possible,” 


204 > 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


** Pray make some allowances for me,” she said. ** I am not 
obstinate — I am only a little awkward at matching the auda- 
city of a lady of high rank. 1 sliall improve with practice. 
My own language is, as I am painfully aware, only plain Eng- 
lish. Permit me to withdraw it, and to substitute yours. What 
advance is your ladyship (delicately) prepared to offer me ? ” 

Lady Janet opened a drawer, and took out her cheque- 
book. 

The moment of relief bad come at last ! The only question 
now left to discuss was evidently the question of amount. 
Lady Janet considered a little. The question of amount was 
(to her mind) in some sort a question of conscience as well, 
ller love for Mercy and her loathing for Grace, her horror of 
seeing her darling degraded and her affection profaned by a 
public exposure, had hurried her — there was no disputing it — 
into treating an injured woman harshly. Hateful as Grace 
Roseberry might be, her father had left her, in his last moments, 
with Lady Janet’s full concurrence, to Lady Janet’s care. 
But for Mercy, she would have been received at Mablethorpe 
House as Lady Janet’s companion, with a salary of one hun- 
dred pounds a year. On the other hand, how long (with 
such a temper as she had revealed) would Grace have remained 
in the service of her protectress ? She would probably 
have been dismissed in a few weeks, with a year’s salary to 
compensate her, and with a recommendation to some suitable 
employment. What would be a fair compensation nowl Lady 
Janet decided that five years’ salary immediately given, and 
future assistance rendered if necessary, would/represent a fit 
remembrance of the late Colonel Roseberry’s claims, and a 
liberal pecuniary acknowledgment of any harshness of treat- 
ment which Grace might have sustained at her hands. At the 
same time, and for the further satisfying of her owmeonscience, 
she determined to discover the sum which Grace herself would 
consider sufficient, by the simple process of making Grace her- 
self propose the terms. 

It is impossible for me to make you an offer,” she said, 
“for this reason, — your need of money will depend greatly 
on your future plans. I am quite ignorant of your future 
plans.” 

“ Perhaps your ladyship will kindly advise me,” said Grace 
satirically. 


LADY JANET AT BAT. 


205 


“ I cannot altogether undertake to advise you,” Lady Janet 
replied. “ I can only suppose that you will scarcely remain in 
England, where you have no friends. Whether you go to law 
with me or not, you will surely feel the necessity of communi- 
cating personally with your friends in Canada. Am I right V 

Grace was quite quick enough to understand this as it was 
meant. Properly interpreted the answer signified — “If you 
take your compensation in money, it is understood, as part 
of the bargain, that you don’t remain in England to annoy 
me/' 

“ Your ladyship is quite right,” she said. “ I shall certain- 
ly not remain in England. I shall consult my friends — and ” 
she added mentally, “ go to law with you afterwards, if I pos- 
sibly can, with your own money !” 

“ You will return to Canada,” Lady Janet proceeded ; “ and 
your prospects there will be, probably, a little uncertain at first. 
Taking this into consideration, at what amount do you esti- 
mate, in your own mind, the pecuniary assistance which you 
will require?” 

“ May I count on your ladyship’s kindness to correct me if 
my own ignorant calculations turn out to be wrong ?” Grace 
asked innocently. 

Here again the words, properly interpreted, had a special 
signification of their own r “ It is stipulated, on my part, that 
I put myself up to auction, and that my estimate shall be 
regulated by your ladyship’s highest bid.” Thoroughly un- 
derstanding the stipulation, Lady Janet bowed, and waited 
gravely. 

Gravely, on her side, Grace began. 

“ I am afraid 1 should want more than a hundred pounds, 
she said. 

Lady Janet made her first bid. “ I think so too.” 

“ More, perhaps, than two hundred ?” 

Lady Janet made her second bid. “ Probably.” 

' “ More than three hundred ? Four hundred ? Five hun- 
dred ?” 

Lady Janet made her highest bid. “Five hundred pounds 
will do,” she said. 

In spite of herself, Grace’s rising colour betrayed her un- 
governable excitement. F rom her earliest childhood she had been 


206 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


accustomed to see shillings and sixpences carefully considered 
before they were parted with. She had never known her father 
to possess so much as five golden sovereigns at his own disposal 
(unencumbered by debt) in all her experience of him. The 
atmosphere in which she had lived and breathed was the all- 
stifling atmosphere of genteel poverty. There was something 
horrible in the gieedy eagerness of her eyes as they watched 
Lady Janet, to see if she was really sufficiently in earnest to 
give away five hundred pounds sterling with a stroke of her 
pen. 

4jady Janet wrote the cheque in a few seconds, and pushed 
it across the table. 

Grace’s hungry eyes devoured the golden line, “ Pay to my- 
self or bearer five hundred pounds,” and verified the signature 
beneath, “ Janet Eoy.” Once sure of the money whenever 
she chose to take it, native meanness of lier nature instantly as- 
serted itself. She tossed her head, and let the cheque lie on 
the table, with an overacted appearance of caring very little 
whether she took it or not. 

“ Your ladyship is not to suppose that I snap at your 
cheque,” she said. 

Lady Janet leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. 
The very sight of Grace Eoseberry sickened her. Her mind 
filled suddenly with the image of Mercy. She longed to feast 
her eyes again on that grand beauty, to fill her ears again with 
the melody of that gentle voice. 

“ I require time to consider — in justice to my own self-re- 
spect,” Grace went on. 

Lady Janet wearily made a sign, granting time to consider. 

“ Your ladyship’s boudoir is, I presume, still at my dis- 
posal 

Lady Janet silently granted the boudoir. ' 

“ And your ladyship’s servants are at my orders, if I have 
occasion to employ them T 

Lady Janet suddenly opened her eyes. “ The whole house- 
hold is at your orders !” she cried furiously. “ Leave me !” 

Grace was far from being offended. If anything, she was 
gratified — there was a certain triumph in having stung Lady 
Janet into an open outbreak of temper. She insisted tbrthwith 
on another condition. 


LADY JANET AT BAY. 


207 


“ Tn the event of niy deciding to receive the cheque,” she 
said, ‘*I cannot, consistently with my own self-respect, permit 
it to be delivered to me otherwise than enclosed. Your lady- 
ship will (if necessary) be so kind as to enclose it. Good 
evening.” 

She sauntered to the door ; looking from side to side, with 
an air of supreme disparagement, at the priceless treasures of 
art which adorned the walls. Her eyes dropped superciliously 
on the carpet (the design of a famous French painter) as if 
her feet condescended in walking over it. The audacity with 
which she had entered the room had been marked enough ; it 
shrank to nothing before the infinitely superior proportions of 
the insolence with which she left it. 

The instant the door was closed Lady Janet rose from her 
chair. Reckless of the wintry chill in the outer air, she threw 
open one of the windows. Pah ! ” she exclaimed, with a 
shudder of disgust, “ the very air of the room is tainted by 
her ! »' 

She returned to her chair. Her mood changed as she sat 
down again — her heart was with Mercy once more. Oh, my 
love!” she murmured, “how low I have stooped, how miser- 
able I have degraded myself — and all for You!” The bitter- 
ness of the retrospect was unendurable. The inbred force of 
the woman’s nature took refuge from it in an outburst of defi- 
ance and despair. “ Whatever she has done that wretch de- 
serves it! Not a living creature in the house shall say she 
has deceived me. She has not deceived me — she loves 
me ! What do I care whether she has given me her true name 
or not 1 She has given me her true heart. What right had 
Julian to play upon her feelings and pry into her secrets ! My 
poor tempted, tortured child! I won’t hear her confession. 
Not another word shall she say to any living creature. I am 
mistress — I will forbid it at once !” She snatched a sheet of 
note-paper from the case ; hesitated ; and threw it from her on 
the table. “Why not send for my darling?” she thought. 
“Why write?” She hesitated once more, and resigned the 
idea. “ No ! I can’t trust myself! I daren’t see her yet I” 

She took up the sheet of paper again, and wrote her second 
message to Mercy. This time, the note b^^n fcndly with a 
familiar form of address. 


208 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


“ My dear Child, — I have had time to think/ and compose 
myself a little since I . last wrote, reqnestino/ you to defer 
the explanation which you had promised ine. I already 
understand (and appreciate) the motives whi(jh led you to in- 
terfere as you did downstairs, and I now ask you to entirely 
abandon the explanation. It will, I am sure, be painful to 
you (for reasons of your own into which I have no wish to inquire 
to produce the person of whom you spoke, and as you know al 
ready, I myself am weary of hearing of her. Besides, there is 
raally no need now for you to explain anything. The stranger 
whose visits here have caused us so much pain and anxiety will 
trouble us no more. She leaves England of her own free will, 
after a conversation with me which has perfectly succeeded 
in composing and satisfying her. Not a word more, my 
dear, to me, or to my nephew, or to any other human creature, 
of what has happened in the dining-room to day. When we 
next meet, let it be understood between us that the past is 
henceforth and for ever buried in oblivion. This is not only the 
earnest request — it is, if necessary, the positive command of 
your mother and friend, 

“Janet Boy. 

“P.S. — I shall find opportunities (before you leave your 
room) of speaking separately to my nephew and to Horace 
Holmcroft. You need dread no embarrassment, when you 
next meet them. I will not ask you to answer my note in 
writing. Say yes, to the maid who will bring it to you, and 1 
shall know we understand each other.” 

After sealing the envelope which inclosed these lines, Lady 
Janet addressed it, as usual, to “ Miss Grace Roseberry,” She 
was just rising to ring the bell, when the maid appeared with 
a message from the boudoir. The woman’s tone and looks 
show^ed plainly that she had been made the object of Grace’s 
insolent self-assertion as well as her mistress. 

“ If you please, my lady, the person downstairs wishes” 

Lady Janet, frowning contemptuously, interrupted the mes- 
sage at the outside. “ I know what the person downstairs 
wishes. She has sent you for a letter from me V' 

“ Yes, my lady,” 

“ Anything more 


LADY JANET AT BAT. 209 

She has sent one of the men-servants, my lady, for a cab. 
If your ladyship had only heard how she spoke to him !” 

Lady Janet intimated by a sign that she would rather not 
hear. She at once inclosed the cheque in an undirected envelope. 

“ Take that to her,” she said, “ and then come back to me.” 

Dismissing Grace Roseberry from all further consideration, 
Lady Janet sat, with her letter to Mercy in her hand, reflecting 
on her position, and on the efforts which it might still demand 
from her. Pursuing this train of thought, it now occurred to 
her that accident might bring Horace and Mercy together at 
any moment, and that, in Horace’s present frame of mind, he 
would certainly insist on the very explanation which it was 
>he foremost interest of her life to suppress. The dread of this 
disaster was in full possession of her when the maid returned. 

“ Where is Mr. Holmcroft ?” she asked, the moment the wo- 
man entered the room. 

“ I saw him open the library door, my lady, just now, on my 
way upstairs.” 

“ Was he alone V* 

** Yes, my lady.” 

“ Go to him, and say I want to see him here immediately.” 

The maid withdrew on her second errand. Lady Janet rose 
restlessly, and closed the open window. Her impatient desire 
to make sure of Horace so completely mastered her that she 
left her room, and met the woman in the corridor on her re- 
turn. Receiving Horace’s message of excuse, she instantly sent 
back the peremptory rejoinder, “ Say that he will oblige me 
to go to him, if he presists in refusing to come to me. And 
stay !” she added, remembering the undelivered letter. “ Send 
Miss Roseberry’s maid here ; I want her.” 

Left alone again, Lady Janet paced once or twice up and 
down the corridor — then grew suddenly weary of the sight of 
it, and went back to her room. The two maids returned to- 
gether. One of them, having announced Horace’s submission, 
was dismissed. The other was sent to Mercy’s room, with 
Lady Janet’s letter. In a minute or two, the messenger ap- 
peared again, with the news that she had found the room 
empty. 

“ Have you any idea where Miss Roseberry is )” 

‘‘ No, my lady.” 

N 


210 


THE NEW MA.GDALEN. 


Lady Janet reflected for a moment. If Horace presented 
himself without any needless delay, the plain inference would 
be that she had succeeded in separating him from Mercy. If 
his appearance was suspiciously deferred, she decided on per- 
sonally searching for Mercy in the reception-rooms on the 
lower floor of the house. 

“ What have you done with the letter V’ she asked. 

“ I left it on Miss Roseberry’s table, my lady.” 

“ Very well. Keep within hearing of the bell, in case I want 
you again.” 

Another minute brought Lady Janet’s suspense to an end. 
She heard the welcome sound of a knock at her door from a 
man’s hand. Horace hurriedly entered the room. 

“ What is it you want with me, Lady Janet he inquired, 
not very graciously. 

“ Sit down, Horace, and you shall hear. 

Horace did not accept the invitation. “ Excuse me,” he 
said, “ if I mention that I am rather in a hurry.” 

“ Why are you in a hurry 1” 

“ I have reasons for wishing to see Grace as soon as pos- 
sible.” 

And I have reasons,” Lady Janet rejoined, “ for wishing 
to speak to you about Grace before you see her ; serious rea- 
sons. Sit down.” 

Horace started. “ Serious reasons 1” he repeated. “ You 
surprise me.” 

“ I shall surprise you still more before I have done.* 

Their eyes met, as Lady Janet answered in those terms. 
Horace observed signs of agitation in her, which he now 
noticed for the first time. His face darkened with an expres- 
sion oi sullen distrust — ^and he took the chair in silence. 


LADY JANET'S LETTER, 


211 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

LADY JANET’S LETTER. 

f HE narrative leaves Lady Janet and Horace Holme roft 
together, and returns to Julian and Mercy in the 
library. 

An interval passed — a long interval, measured by the im- 
patient reckoning of suspense — after the cab which had taken 
Grace Roseberry away had left the house. The minutes fol- 
lowed each other ; and still the warning sound of Horace’s 
footstep was not heard on the marble pavement of the hall. 
By common (though unexpressed) consent, Julian and Mercy 
avoided touching upon the one subject on which they were now 
both interested alike. With their thoughts fixed secretly in 
vain speculation on the nature of the interview which was then 
taking place in Lady Janet’s room, they tried to speak on 
topics indifferent to both of them — tried, and failed, and tri ed, 
again In a last, and longest pause of silence between them, 
the next event happened. The door from the hall was softly 
and suddenly opened. 

Was it Horace ? No — not even yet. The person who had 
opened the door was only Mercy’s maid. 

“ My lady’s love. Miss; and will you please to read this 
directly ]” 

Giving her message in those terms, the woman produced 
from the pocket of her apron Lady Janet’s second letter to 
Mercy, with a strip of paper oddly pinned round the envelope. 
Mercy detached the paper, and found on the inner side some 
lines in pencil, hurriedly written in Lady Janet’s hand. The^ 
ran thus : 

“ Don’t lose a moment in reading my letter. And mind 
this, when H. returns to you — meet him firmly : say nothing. 

Enlightened by the warning words which J ulian had spoken 
tc her, Mercy was at no loss to place the right interpreUtion 


212 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


on those strange lines. Instead of immediately opening the 
letter, she stopped the maid at the library door. J ulian’s sus- 
picion of the most trifling events that were taking place in the 
house had found its way from his mind to hers. “ Wait !” she 
said. “ I don’t understand what is going cn upstairs ; 1 want 
to ask you something.” 

The woman came back — not very willingly. 

“ How did you know I was here V Mercy inquired. 

If you please, miss, her ladyship ordered me to take the 
letter to you some little time since. You were not in your 
room ; and I left it on your table” 

“ I understand that. But how came you to bring the letter 
here f ’ 

“ My lady rang for me, miss. Before I could knock at her 
door, she came out into the corridor, with that morsel of paper 
in her hand” 

“ So as to keep you from entering her room V* 

“Yes, miss. Her ladyship wrote on the paper in a great 
hurry, and told me to pin it round the letter thaL I had left in 
your room. I was to take them both together to you and to 
let nobody see me. ‘ You will find Miss Roseberry in the 
library’ (her ladyship says), ‘ and run, run, run ! there isn’t a 
moment to lose !’ Those were her own words, miss.” 

“ Did you hear anything in the room before Lady Janet 
came out, and met you ?” 

The woman hesitated, and looked at Julian. 

“ I hardly know whether I ought to tell you, miss.” 

Julian turned away to leave the library. Mercy stopped him 
by a motion of her hand. 

“ You know that I shall not get you into any trouble,” she 
said to the maid. “ And you may speak quite safely before 
Mr. Julian Gray.” 

Thus reassured, the maid spoke. 

“ To own the truth, miss, I heard Mr. Holmcroft in my 
lady’s room. His voice sounded as if he was angry. I may 
say they were both angry — Mr. Holmcroft and my lady.” (She 
turned to Julian.) “ And just before iier ladyship came out, 
sir, I heard your name — as if it was you they were having 
words about. I can’t say, exactly what it was ; I hadn’t time 
to bear. And I didn’t listen, miss; the door was aj ir; and 
the voices were so loud, nobody could help hearing them.” 


LADY JANET’S LETTER. 2 IS 

It was useless to detain the woman any longer. Having 
given her leave to withdraw, Mercy turned to Julian. 

“ Why were they quarrelling about you f’ she asked. 

Julian pointed to the unopened letter in her hand. 

“The answer to your question may he there,” he said. 
“ Head the letter while you have the chance. And if I can 
advise you, say so at once.” 

With a strange reluctance she opened the envelope. With 
a sinking heart she read the lines in which Lady Janet, as 
“ mother and friend,” commanded her absolutely to suppress 
the confession w'hich she had pledged herself to make in the 
sacred interests of justice and truth. A low cry of despair 
escaped her, as the cruel complication in her position revealed 
itself in all its unmerited hardship. “ Oh, Lady Janet, Lady 
Janet !” she thought, “ there was but one trial more left in my 
hard lot — and it comes to me from you /” 

She handed the letter to Julian. He took it from her in 
silence. His pale complexion turned paler still as he read 
it. His eyes rested on her compassionately as he handed it 
back. 

“ To my mind,” he said, Lady Janet herself sets all further 
doubt at rest. Her letter tells me what she wanted when 
she sent for Horace, and why my name was mentioned between 
them.’^ 

“ Tell me !” cried Mercy, eagerly. 

“ He did not immediately answer her. He sat down again 
in the chair by her side, and pointed to the leetter. 

“ Has Lady Janet shaken your resolution!” he asked.” 

“She has strengthened my resolution.” Mercy answered. 
“She has added a new bitterness to my remorse.” 

She did not mean it harshly ; but the reply sounded 
harshly in Julian’s ear. It stirred the generous impulses which 
were the strongest impulses in his nature. He who had once 
pleaded with Mercy for compassionate consideration for her- 
self, now pleaded with her for compassionate consideration for 
Lady Janet. With persuasive gentleness, he drew a little 
nearer, and laid his hand on her arm. 

“ Don’t judge her harshly,” he said. “ She is wrong, miser- 
ably wrong. She has recklessly degraded herself ; she has 
recklessly tempted you. Still, is it generous— is it even just 


214 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


— to hold her responsible for deliberate sin ? She is at the 
close of her days ; she can feel no new affection ; she can never 
replace you. View her position in that light, and you will see 
(as I see) that it is no base motive which has led her astray. 
Think of her wounded heart and her wasted life — and say to 
yourself, forgivingly. She loves me !” 

Mercy’s eyes filled with tears. 

‘‘Ido say it !’^ she answered. “Not forgivingly — it is I 
who have need of forgiveness. I say it gratefully when I think 
of her — I say it with shame and sorrow when I think of myself.” 

He took her hand for the first time. He looked, guiltlessly 
looked, at her downcast face. He spoke as he had spoken at 
the memorable interview between them, which had made a 
new woman of her. 

“ I can imagine no crueller trial,” he said, “ than the trial 
that is now before you. The benefactress to whom you owe 
everything asks nothing from you but your silence. The per- 
son whom you have wronged is no longer present to stimulate 
your resolution to speak. Horace, himself (unless I am entire- 
ly mistaken) will not hold you to the explanation that you 
have promised. The temptation to keep your false position in 
this house is, I do not scruple to say, all but irresistible. Sister 
and friend ! can you still justify my faith in you 'i Will you 
still own the truth, without the base fear of discovery to drive 
you to it ?” 

She lifted her head, with the steady light of resolution shin- 
ing again in her grand grey eyes. Her low, sweet voice an- 
swered him, without a faltering note in it. 

“ I will !” 

“ You will do justice to the woman whom you have wronged 
— unworthy as she is ; powerless as she is to expose you 

“I will !” 

“ You will sacrifice everything you have gained by the fraud 
to the sacred duty of atonement ? You will suffer anything — 
even though you offend the second mother who has loved you 
and sinned for you — rather than suffer the degradation of 
yourself?” 

Her hand closed firmly on his. Again, and for the last time, 
she answered, 

“ I will I” 


LADY JANET’S LETTER. 


215 


His voice had not trembled yet. It failed him now. His 
next words were spoken in faint whispering tones — to himself ; 
not to her. 

“ Thank God for this day ! ” he said. “ I have been of some 
service to one of the noblest of God’s creatures !” 

Some subtle influence, as he spoke, passed from his hand to 
hers. It trembled through her nerves ; it entwined itself mys- 
teriously with the finest sensibilities in her nature ; it softly 
opened her heart to a first vague surmising of the devotion 
that she had inspired in him. A faint glow of colour, lovely 
in its faintness, stole over her face and neck. Her breathing 
quickened tremblingly. She drew her hand away from him, 
and sighed when she had released it. 

He rose suddenly to his feet and left her, without a word or a 
look, walking slowly down the length of the room. When he 
turned and came back to her, his face was composed ; he was 
master of himself again. 

Mercy was the first to speak. She turned the conversation 
from herself by reverting to the proceedings in Lady Janet’s 
room. 

“ You spoke of Horace just now,” she said, “ in terms which 
surprised me. You appeared to think that he would not hold 
me to my explanation. Is that one of the conclusions which 
you draw from Lady Janet’s letter 

“ Most assuredly,” Julian answered. “ You will see the 
conclusion as I see it, if we return for a moment to Grace Rose 
berry’s departure from the house.” 

Mercy interrupted him there. “ Can you guess,” she asked, 
“ how Lady Janet prevailed upon her to go ?” 

“ I hardly like to own it,” said Julian. “ There is an ex- 
pression in the letter which suggests to me that Lady Janet has 
offered her money, and that she has taken the bribe.” 

“ Oh, I can’t think that !” 

“ Let us return to Horace. Miss Roseberry once out of the 
house, but one serious obstacle is left in lady Janet’s way. 
That obstacle is Horace Holmcroft.” 

“ How is Horace an obstacle T 

“ He is an obstacle in this sense. He is under an engage- 
ment to marry you in a week’s time ; and Lady Janet is deter- 


216 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


mined to keep him (as she is determined to keep every one else) 
in ignorance of the truth. She will do that without scruple. 
But the inbred sense of honour in her is not utterly silenced yet. 
She cannot, she dare not, let Horace make you his wife, under 
the false impression that you are Colonel Roseberry’s daughter. 
You see the situation ? On the one hand she won’t enlighten 
him. On the other hand, she cannot allow him to marry you 
blindfold. In this emergency, what is she to do ? There 
is but one alternative that I can discover. She must per- 
suade Horace (or she must irritate Horace) into acting for 
himself, and breaking off the engagement on his own respon- 
sibility.” 

Mercy stopped him. “ Impossible ! ” she cried warmly. 
“ Impossible !” 

“ Look again at her letter,” Julian rejoined. It tells you 
plainly “ that you need fear no embarrassment when you next 
meet Horace. If words mean anything, those words mean 
that he will not claim from you the confidence which you have 
promised to repose in him. On what condition is it pos- 
sible for him to abstain from doing that 1 On the one condition 
that you have ceased to represent the first and foremost in- 
terests of his life.” 

Mercy still held firm. You are wronging Lady Janet,” 
she said. 

Julian smiled sadly. 

“ Try to look at it, he answered, '‘from Lady Janet’s point 
of view. Do you suppose she sees anything derogatory to her 
in attempting to break off the marriage 1 I will answer for it 
she believes she is doing you a kindness. In one sense it would 
be a kindness to spare you the shame of a humiliating confession 
and to save you (possibly) from being rejected to your face by 
the man you love. In my opinion, the thing is done already, 
I have reasons of my own for believing that my aunt will suc- 
ceed far more easily than she could anticipate. Horace’s tem- 
per will help her.” 

Mercy’s mind began to yield to him, in spite of herself. 

“ What do you mean by Horace’s temper 1” she inquired. 

" Must you ask me that T he said, drawing back a little from 

her. 

must.” 


LADY Janet’s letter. 


217 


I mean by Horace’s temper, Horace’s unworthy distrust of 
the interest that I feel in you.” 

She instantly understood him. And more than that, she 
secretly admired him for the scrupulous delicacy with which he 
had expressed himself. Another man would not have thought 
of sparing her in that way. Another man would have said 
plainly, “ Horace is jealous of me,” 

J ulian did not wait for her to answer him. He considerate- 
ly went on. 

“ For the reason that I have just mentioned,” he said, 
“ Horace will be easily irritated into taking a course which, in 
his calmer moments, nothing would induce him to adopt. U n- 
til I heard what your maid said to you, I had thought ( for 
your sake) of retiring before he joined you here. Now 1 know 
that my name has been introduced, and has made mischief up- 
stairs, I feel the necessity (for your sake again) of meeting 
Horace and his temper face to face before you see him. Let 
me, if I can, prepare him to hear you, without any angry feel- 
ing in his mind towards me. Do you object to retire to the 
next room for a few minutes, in the event of his coming back 
to the library V 

Mercy’s courage instantly rose with the emergency. She 
refused to leave the two men together. 

“ Don’t think me insensible to your kindness,” she said. “ If 
I leave you with Horace, I may expose you to insult. I refuse 
to do that. What makes you doubt his coming back 

‘‘His prolonged absence makes me doubt it,” Julian replied. 
“ In my belief, the marriage is broken off. He may go as Grace 
Eoseberry has gone. You may never see him again.” 

The instant the opinion was uttered, it was piactically con- 
tradicted by the man himselh Horace opened the library 
door. 


2i8 


THE HEW MAGDALEN. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


THE CONFESSION. 




E stopped just inside the door. His first look was for 
Mercy ; his second look was for Julian. 

“ I knew it V' he said, with an assumption of sardonic 
composure. “If I could only have persuaded Lady Janet to 
bet, I should have won a hundred pounds.” He advanced to 
Julian, with a sudden change from irony to anger. “ Would 
you like to hear what the bet was 1” he asked. 

“ I should prefer seeing you able to control yourself, in the 
presence of this lady,” J ulian answered quietly. 

“I offered to lay Lady Janet two hundred pounds to one,” 
Horace proceeded, “ that I should find you here, making love 
to Miss Roseberry behind my back,” 

Mercy interfered before Julian could reply. 

“ If you cannot speak without insulting one of us,” she said, 
“ Permit me to request that you will not address yourself to 
Mr. Julian Gray.” 

Horace bowed to her, with a mockery of respect. 

“Pray don’t alarm yourself — I am pledged to be scmpu- 
lously civil to both of you,” he said. “ Lady Janet only al- 
owed me to leave her, on condition of my promising to behave 
with perfect politeness. What else can I do ? I have two 
privileged people to deal with — a parson and a woman. The 
parson’s profession protects him ; and the woman’s sex protects 
her. You have got me at a disadvantage, and you both of you 
know it. I beg to apologise if I have forgotten the clergy- 
man’s profession and the lady’s sex.” 

“ You have forgotten more than that,” said Julian. “You 
have forgotten that you were born a gentleman and bred a 
man of honour. So far as I am concerned, I don’t ask you to 
remember that I am a clergyman — I obtrude my profession on 
nobody — I only ask you to remember your birth and your 
breeding. It is quite bad enough to cruelly and unjustly sus- 


•THE CONFESSION. 


m 


pect on old friend who has never forgotten what he owes to 
you and to himself. But it is still more unworthy of you to 
acknowledge those suspicions in the hearing of a woman whom 
your own choice has doubly bound you to respect.^^ 

He stopped. The two eyed each other for a moment in 
silence. 

It was impossible for Mercy to look at them, as she was 
looking now, without drawing the inevitable comparsion be- 
tween the manly force and dignity of Julian and the womanish 
malice and irritability of Horace. A last faithful impulse vi 
loyalty towards the man to whom she had been betrothed im- 
pelled her to part them, before Horace had hopelessly degraded 
himself in her estimation by contrast with Julian. 

“You had better wait to speak to me,’^ she said to him, “ un- 
til we are alone.” 

“ Certainly,” Horace answered, with a sneer, “ if Mr. Julian 
Gray will permit it.” 

Mercy turned to Julian, with a look which said plainly, 
“ Pity us both, and leave us !” 

“ Do wish me to go ?” he asked. 

“ Add to all your other kindnesses to me,” she answered. 
“ Wait for me in that room.” 

She pointed to the door that led into the dining-room. 
Julian hesitated. 

“You promise to let me know it, if I can be of the smallest 
service to you V he said. 

“ Yes, yes !” She followed him as he withdrew, and added 
rapidly in a whisper, “ Leave the door ajar !” 

He made no answer. As she returned to Horace, he entered 
the dining-room. The one concession he could make to her 
he did make. He closed the door so noiselessly that not even 
her quick hearing could detect that he had shut it. 

Mercy spoke to Horace, without waiting to let him speak 
first. 

“ I have promised you an explanation of my conduct,” she 
said in accents that trembled a little in spite of herself. “ I am 
ready to perform my promise.” 

“ 1 have a question to ask you before you do that,” he re^ 
joined. “ Can you speak the truth V’ 

“ I am waiting to speak the truth.” 


220 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


“ I will give you an opportunity. Are you, or are you not, 
in love with Julian Gray V 

“ You ought to be ashamed to ask the question !” 

“ Is that your only answer 

“ I have never been unfaithful to you, Horace, even in 
thought. If I had not been true to you, should I feel my posi 
tion as you see I feel it nowf^ 

He smiled bitterly. “ I have my own opinion of your fidelity 
and of his honour,” he said. “ You couldn’t even send him 
into the next room without whispering to him first. Never 
mind that now. At least you know that Julian Gray is in love 
with you.” 

“ Mr. Julian Gray has never breathed a word of it to me.” 

A man can show a woman that he loves her, without say- 
ing it in words.” 

Mercy’s power of endurance began to fail her. Not even 
Grace Roseberry had spoken more insultingly to her of Julian 
than Horace was speaking now. “ Whoever says that of Mr. 
Julian Gray, lies !” she answered warmly. 

“ Then Lady Janet lies,” Horace retorted. 

Lady Janet never said it I Lady Janet is incapable of say- 
ing it !” 

“ She may not have said it in so many words ; but she never 
denied it when I said it. I reminded her of the time when 
Julian Gray first heard from me that I was going to marry 
you ; he was so overwhelmed that he was barely capable of being 
civil to me. Lady Janet was present, and could not deny it. 

I asked her if she had observed, since then, signs of a confiden- 
tial understanding between you two. She could not deny the 
signs. I asked if she had ever found you two together. She 
could not deny that' she had found you together this very day, 
under circumstances which justified suspicion. Yesl yes! 
Look as angry as you like I you don’t know wiiat has been going 
an upstairs. Lady J anet is bent on breaking off our engagement 
— and Julian Gray is at the bottom of it.” 

As to Julian, Horace was utterly wrong. But as to Lady 
Janet, he echoed the warning words which Julian himself had 
spoken to Mercy. She was staggered, but she still held to her 
own opinion. “ I don’t believe it I” she said, firmly. 

He advanced a step, and fixed his angry eyes on her search- 


THE CONFESSION. 


221 


“ Do you know why Lady Janet sent for me f ’ he asked. 

“ No.” 

“ Then I will tell you. Lady Janet is a staunch friend of 
your.% there is no denying that. She wished to inform me 
that she had altered her mind about your promised explanation 
of your conduct. She said ‘ Reflection has convinced me that 
no explanation is required ; I have laid my positive commands 
on my adopted daughter that no explanation shall take place.’ 
Has she done that ]” 

'‘Yes.” 

“ Now observe ! I waited till she had finished, and then 
I said, ‘ What have I to do with this V Lady Janet has one 
merit — she speaks out. ‘You are to do as I do,’ she an- 
swered. You are to consider that no explanation is required, 
and you are to consign the whole matter to oblivion from this 
time forth.’ ‘ Are you serious 1 ’ I asked. ‘ Quite serious.’ 
‘ In that case T have to inform your ladyship that you insist on 
more than you may suppose — you insist on my breaking my 
engagement to Miss Roseberry. Either I am to have the ex- 
planation that she has promised me, or I refuse to marry her.’ 
How do you think Lady Janet took that? She shut up her 
lips, and she spread her hands, and she looked at me as much 
as to say, ‘ Just as you please ! Refuse if you like ; it’s nothing 
to me !’ ” 

He paused for a moment. Mercy remained silent, on her 
side : she foresaw what was coming. Mistaken in supposing 
that Horace had left the house, Julian had, beyond all doubt, 
been equally in error in concluding that he had been entrapped 
into breaking off the engagement upstairs. 

“Do }ou understand me, so far ?” Horace asked. 

“ I understand you perfectly.” 

“ I will not trouble you much longer,” he resumed. “ I said 
to Lady Janet, ‘ Be so good as to answer - me in plain 
words. Do you still insist on closing Miss Roseberry’s 
lips V ‘ I still insist,’ she answered. ‘ No explanation is re- 
quired. If you are base enough to suspect your betrothed wife 
I am just enough to believe in my adopted daughter.’ I re- 
plied — and I beg you will give your best attention to what I 
am now going to say — I replied to that, ‘ It is not fair to charge 
me with suspecting her. 1 don’t understand her coniidential 


222 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


relations with Julian Gray, and I don’t understand her lan- 
guage and conduct in the presence of the police officer. I claim 
it as my right to be satisfied on both those points — in the char- 
acter of the man who is to marry her.’ There was my answer. 
[ spare you all that followed. I only repeat what I said to 
Lady Janet. She has commanded you to be silent. If you 
obey her commands, I owe it to myself and I owe it to my 
family to release you from your engagement. Choose between 
your duty to Lady Janet and your duty to me.” 

He had mastered his temper at last: he spoke with dignity 
and he spoke to the point. His position was unassailable ; he 
claimed nothing but his right. 

“ My choice was made,” Mercy answered, “ when I gave 
you my promise upstairs.” 

She waited a little ; struggling to control herself on the brink 
of the terrible revelation that was coming. Her eyes dropped 
before his ; her heart beat faster and faster — but she struggled 
bravely. With a desperate courage she faced the position. 

If you are ready to listen,” she went on, “I am ready to tell 
you why I insisted on having the police-officer sent out of the 
house.” 

Horace held up his hand warningly. 

“ Stop !” he said, “ that is not all.” 

His infatuated jealousy of Julian (fatally misinterpreting her 
agitation) distrusted her at the very outset. She had limited 
herself to clearing up the one question of her interference with 
the officer of justice. The other question of her relations with 
Julian, she had deliberately passed over. Horace instantly 
drew his own ungenerous conclusion. 

“ Let us not misunderstand one another,” he said. “ The 
explanation of your conduct in the other room is only one of 
the explanations which you owe me. You have something 
else to account for. Let us begin with that if you please.” 

She looked at him in unaffected surprise. 

“What else have I to account for ?” she asked. 

He again repeated his reply to Lady Janet. 

“ I have told you already;” he said, “ I don't understand 
your confidential relations with Julian Gray.” 

Mercy’s colour rose ; Mercy’s eyes began to brighten. 

“ Don’t return to that !” she cried, with an irrepressible out* 


THE CONFESSION. 


223 


break of disgust. Don’t, for God’s sake, make me despise 
you at such a moment as this !” 

His obstinacy only gathered fresh encouragement from that 
appeal to his better sense. 

‘‘ I insist on returning to it.” 

She had resolved to bear anything from him — as her fit 
punishment for the deception ot which she had been guilty.. 
But it was not in womanhood (at the moment when the first 
words of her confession were trembling on her lips) to endure 
Horace’s unworthy suspicion of her. She rose from her seat 
and met his eye firmly. 

“ I refuse to degrade myself, and to degrade Mr. Julian 
Gray, by answering you,” she said. 

“ Consider what you are doing,” he rejoined. ** Change 
your mind, before it is too late !” 

“ You have had my reply.” 

Those resolute words, that steady resistance, seemed to in- 
furiate him. He caught her roughly by the arm. 

“ You are as false as hell !” he cried. It’s all over between 
you and me I” 

The loud threatening tone in which he had spoken penetrated 
through the closed door of the dining-room. The door instant- 
ly opened. J ulian returned to the library. 

He had just set foot in the room, when there was a knock 
at the other door — the door that opened on the hall. One of 
the men servants appeared, with a telegraphic message in his 
hand. Mercy was the first to see it. It was the Matron’s an- 
swer to the letter which she had sent to the Kefuge. 

“For Mr. Julian Gray 1” she asked. 

“ Yes, miss,” 

“ Give it to me.” 

She signed to the man to withdraw, and herself gave the 
telegram to Julian. “ It is addressed to you, at my request,” 
she said. “ You will recognise the name of the person who 
sends it, and you will find a message in it for me.” 

Horace interfered before Julian could open the telegram. 

“ Another private understanding between you !” he said. 
“ Give me that telegram.” 

Julian looked at him with quiet contempt. 

“ It is directed to Me,” he answered — and opened the envel- 
ope. 


224 . 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


The message inside was expressed in these terms : “ I am 

as deeply interested in her as you are. Say that I have re- 
ceived her letter, and that I welcome her back to the Refuge 
with all my heart. I have business this evening in the neigh- 
bourhood. I will call for her myself at Mablethorpe House.” 

The message explained itself. Of her own free will, she had 
made the expiation complete ! Of her own free will, she was 
going back to the martyrdom of her old life ! Bound as he 
knew himself to be to let no compromising word or action es- 
cape him in the presence of Horace, the irrepressible expres- 
sion of Julian’s admiration glowed in his eyes as they rested 
on Mercy. Horace detected the look. He sprang forward 
and tried to snatch the telegram out of Julian’s hand. 

“ Give it to me !” he said. “ I will have it !” 

J Lilian silently put him back at arm’s length. 

Maddened with rage, he lifted his hand threateningly. 
“ Give it to me,” he repeated between his set teeth, “ or it will 
be the worse for you !” 

“ Give it to me !” said Mercy, suddenly placing herself be- 
tween them. 

J ulian gave it. She turned, and offered it to Horace, look- 
ing at him with a steady eye, holding it out to him with a 
steady hand. 

“ Read it,” she said. 

Julian’s generous nature pitied the man who had insulted him. 
Julian’s great heart only remembered the friend of former 
times. 

“ Spare him 1” he said to Mercy. Remember he is unpre- 
pared I” 

She neither answered nor moved. Nothing stirred the hor 
rible torpor of her resignation to her fate. She knew that the 
time had come. 

Julian appealed to Horace. 

“ Don’t read it !” he cried. “ Hear what she has to say ic 
you first 1” 

Horace’s hand answered him with a contenrptuous gesture. 
Horace’s eyes devoured, word by word, the Matron’s message. 

He looked up when he had read it through. There was a 
ghastly change in his face as he turned it on Mercy. 

She stood between the two men like a statue. The life in 


THE CONFESSION. 225 

her seemed to have died out except in her eyes. Her eyes 
rested on Horace with a steady glittering calmness. 

The silence was only broken by the low murmuring of J alian’s 
voice. His face was hidden in his hands — he was praying foi 
them. . 

Horace spoke — laying his finger on the telegram. His voice, 
had changed with the change in his face. Ihe tone was low 
and trembling : no one would have recognized it as the tone ol 
Horace’s voice. 

“ What does this mean ?” he said to Mercy. “ It can’t be foj 
you ?” 

“It is for me.” 

“ What have You to do with a Refuge 

Without a change in her face, without u movement iu her 
limbs, she spoke the fatal words. 

“ I have come from a Refuge, and I am iroing back to a 
fuge. Mr. Horace Holmcroft, I am Mercy Ivlerrick ! ” 


22e 


THE NEW SlAGDxiLm 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

GREAT HEART AND LITTLE HEART. 

t HERE was a pause. 

The moments passed — and not one of the three Tr.o^ ed 
^ The moments passed — and not one of the tliree spoke 
Insensibly the words of supplication died away on Julian’s lips. 
Even his energy failed to sustain liim, tired as it now was by 
the crushing oppression of suspense. The first trilling move- 
ment which suggested tlic idea of change, and which so brought 
with it tlie first vague sense of relief, came from Mercy. Incap- 
able of sustaining the prolonged efibrt of standing, she drev/ 
back a little, and took a chair. No outward manifestation of 
emotion escaped her. There she sat — with the death-like toi- 
por of resignation in her face — waiting her sentence in silence 
from the man at whom she had hurled the whole terrible con- 
fession of the truth in one sentence! 

Julian lifted his head as she moved. lie looked at Horace, 
and advancing a few steps, looked again. There was fear in 
his face, as he suddenly turned it towards Mercy. 

“Speak to him !” he said in a whisper. “ Rouse him, before 
it’s too late !” 

She moved mechanically in her chair ; she looked mechaui- 
liy at Julian. 

“ What more have 1 to say to him ?” she asked in faint weary 
•<ones. “Did I not tell him everything when 1 told him my 
name T 

The natural sound of her voice might have failed to alTect 
Horace. The altered sound of it roused him. He approached 
Mercy’s chair, with a dull surprise in his face, and put his hand 
in a weak wavering way on her sh(.ulder. In that position he 
stood for a wliile, looking down at her in silence. 

The one idea in him that found its way outwards to expres- 
sion was the idea of Julian. Without moving his hand, without 


GEEAT HEART AND LITTLE HEART. 227 

looking up from Mercy, he spoke for the first time since the 
shock liad fallen on him. 

“ Whe^e is Julian?” he asked, very quietly. 

“ I am here, Horace — close by you.” 

“ Will you do me a service ?” 

Certainly. How can I help you ?” 

He considered a little before he replied. His hand left 
Mercy’s shoulder, and went up to his head — then dropped at 
his side. His next words were spoken in a sadly helpless be- 
wildered w"ay. 

I have an idea, Julian, that I have been somehow to blame. 

I said some hard words to you. It was a little -while since. 
I <lon’t clearly remember what it was all al)out. My temper 
has been a good deal tried in this house ; I have never been 
used to the sort of thing that goes on here — secrets and mys- 
|, teries, and hateful low-lived quarrels. We have no secrets 
and mysteries at home. And as for quarrels — ridicul- 
ous 1 My mother and my sister are highly-bred women (you 
know them ) ; gentlewomen, in the best sense of the word. When 
I am wdth them I have no anxieties. I am not harassed at 
home by doubts of who people are, and confusion about names 
and so on. I suspect the contrast weighs a little on my mind, 
and upsets it. They make me over-suspicious among them 
here — -and it ends in my feeling doubts and fears that I can’t 
get over : doubts about you, and fears about myself. I have 
got a fear about myself now. I want you to help me. Shall 
T make an apology first ?” 

“ Don’t say a word. Tell me what I can do.” 

He turned his face towards Julian for the first time. 

“ Just look at me,” he said. “ Does it strike you that I am * 
at all wrong in my mind ? Tell me the truth, old fellow.” 

“ Your nerves are a little shaken, Horace. Nothing more.” 

He considered again, after that reply ; his eyes remaining , 
anxioiisly fixed on Julian’s face. 

“]\Ty nerves are a little shaken,” he repeated. “That is 
tme ; I feel they are shaken. I should like, if you don't mind, 
to make sure that it’s no worse. Will you help me to try if 
my memory is all right ?” 

“ I will do anything you like.” 

“ Ah ! you are a good fellow, Julian — and a clear-headed- 


228 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


fellow, too, which is very important just now. Look here ! 1 
say it’s about a week since the troubles began in thifi house. 
Do you say so too 

“The troubles came in with the coming of a woman from 
Germany, a stranger to us, w ho behaved very violently in the 
dining-room there. Am I right, so far ]” 

“ Quite right.” 

“ The woman carried matters with a high hand. She claim- 
ed Colonel Roseberry — no, I wish to be strictly accurate — slie 
claimed the late Colonel Roseberry as her father. Sh< told a 
tiresome story about her having been robbed of her papers and 
her name by an imposter wdio had personated her. She said 
the name of the impostor was Merc> Merrick. And she after- 
wards put the climax to it all : she pointed to the lady wdio is 
engaged to be my wife, and delcared that was M^r^'V 
Merrick. Tell me again, is that right or wrong ?” 

Julian answered him as before. He went on, speaking more 
confidently and more excitedly than he had spoken yet. 

“ Now attend to this, Julian. I am going to pass from my 
memory- of what happened a week ago to my memory of what 
happened five minutes since. You were present ; I want to 
know if you heard it too. He paused, and, without taking his 
eyes off Julian, pointed backwards to Mercy. “ There is the 
lady who is engaged to marry me,” he resumed. “Did, I or 
did I not, hear her say that she had come out of a Refuge, and 
that she was going back to a Refuge 1 Did I, or did I not, 
hear her own to my face that her name was Mercy Merrick 1 
Answer me, Julian. My good friend, answer me, for the sake 
.of old times.’’ 

His voice faltered as he spoke those imploring words. Un- 
der the dull blank of his face-there appeared the first signs of 
emotion slowly forcing its way outwards. The stunned mind 
was revived faintly. Julian saw his opportunity of aiding the 
recovery, and seized it. He took Horace gently by the arm, 
and pointed to Mercy. 

“ There is your answer 1” he said. “ Look ! — and pity her.” 

She had not once interrupted them while they had bnen 
i^eaking ; she had changed her position again, and that was all 
There was a writing-table at the side of her chair ; her out- 


GREAT HEART AND LITTLE III ART. 


229 


stretched arms rested on it. Her head had dropped on her 
arms, and her face was hidden. Julian’s judgment had not mis- 
led him ; the utter self-abandonment of her attitude answered 
Horace as no human language could have answered him. He 
looked at her. A quick spasm of pain passed across his face. 
He turned once more to the faithful friend who had forgiven 
him. His head fell on Julian’s shoulder, and he burst into tears. 

Mercy started wildly to her feet and looked at the two men. 

“ 0 God ! ” she cried, ‘^what have I done !” 

Julian quieted her by a motion of his hand. 

You have helped me to save him,” he said. ‘‘Let his tearg 
have their way. Wait.” 

He put one arm round Horace to support him. The manly 
tenderness of the action, the complete and noble pardon of 
past injuries which it implied, touched Mercy to the heart. 

She went back to her chair. Again shame and sorrow over- 
powered her, and again she hid her face from view. 

Julian led Horace to a seat, and silently waited by him un- 
til he had recovered his self-control. He gratefully took the 
kind hand that had sustained him ; he said simply, almost boy- 
ishly, “ Thank you, Julian. 1 am better now.” 

“ Are you composed enough to listen to what is said to youl” 
Julian asked. 

“Yes. Do you wish to speak to me ? ” 

Julian left him without immediately replying, and returned 
to Mercy. 

“ The time has come,” he said. “ Tell him all — truly, un- 
reservedly, as you would tell it to me.” 

She shuddered as he spoke. “Have I not told him enough V* 
she asked. “ Do you want me to break his heart ? Look at 
him. Look what I have done already ! ” 

Horace shrank from the ordeal as Mercy shrank from it. 

“ No ! no ! I can’t listen to it. I daren’t listen to it ! ” he 
cried, and rose to leave the room. 

Julian had taken the good work in hand : he never faltered 
over it for an instant. Horace had loved her — how dearly, 
Julian now knew for the first time. The bare possibility that 
she might earn her pardon if she was allowed to plead her own 
cause, was a possibility still left. To let her win on Horace to 
forgive her was death to the love that still filled his heart in 
eecret. But he never hesitated. With a resolution which the 


230 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


weaker man was powerless to resist, he took him by the arm 
aud led him back to his pLace. 

“ For her sake, and for your sake, you shall not condemn 
her unheard,” lie said to Horace firmly. One temptation to 
deceive yon after another has tried her, and she has resisted 
tiiem all. With no discovery to fear ; with a letter from the 
benefactress who loves her, commanding her to be silent ; with 
overything that a woman values in this world to lose, if she 
owns what she has done — this woman, for the truth’s sake, has 
spoken the truth. Does she deserve nothing at your hands in 
return for that ] Despect her, Horace — and hear her.” 

Horace yielded. Julian turned to Mercy. 

“ You have allowed me to guide you so far,” he said. 
** Will you allow me to guide you still?” 

Her eyes sank before his ; her bosom rose and fell rapidly. 
His influence over her maintained its sway. She bowed her 
head in s))eeehless submission. 

“ Tell him,” Julian proceeded in accents of en'reaty, not of 
command, “tell him what your life has been. Tell him how 
you Avere tried and tempted, with no friend near to speak the 
words Avhich might have saved you. And then,” he added, 
raising her from the chair, “ let him judge you — if he can ?” 

He attemi)ted to lead her across the room to the place which 
Horace occupied. But her submission had its limits. Half 
way to the place she stopped, and refused to go further. J Lilian 
offered her a chair. Slie declined to take it. Standing with 
one hand on the back of the chair, she waited fur the Avord 
from Horace Avhich Avould permit her to speak. She Av^as re- 
gigned to the ordeal. Her face was calm ; her mindAvas clear. 
The hardest of all humiliations to endure — the humiliation of 
acknoAvledging her name — she had passed through. Nothing 
remained but to show her gratitude to Julian by acceding to 
his Avishes, and to ask pardon of Horace before they parted for 
ever. In a little while the matron Avould arrive at the house 
— and then it Avould be over. 

Unwillingly Horace looked at her. Their eyes met. He 
broke out suddenly Avith something of his former violence. 

“ I can’t realise it, even noAv !” he cried. “ Is it true that 
you are not Grace Roseberry ? Don’t look at me ! Say in 
one Avord — yes or No !” 
ghe answered him humbly and sadly, “ Yes.” 


GREAT HEART AND LITTLE HEART. 


231 


You have done wliat that woman accused cf doing? 
Am I to believe that 

“You are to believe it, Sir.” 

All the \v(‘akn<'s.s of Horace’s character disclosed itself when 
she made that reply. 

“ Jiitainous!” lie exclaimed. “ What exsuse can you make 
for the cruel deception you have practised on me ] Too bad ! 
too bad ! There can be no excuse for you !” 

She accepted his reproaches with unshaken resignation. 
“ I have deserved it !” was all she said to herself, “ I have de- 
served it ?” 

Julian interposed once more in Mercy’s defense. 

“ Wait till you are sure there is no excuse for her, Horace,’ 
he said quietly. “ Grant her justice, if you can grant no more 
I leave you together.” 

He advanced towards the door of the dining-room. Horace’s 
weakness disclosed itself once more. 

“Don’t leave me alone with her!” he burst out. “The 
misery of it is more than I can bear !” 

Julian looked at Mercy. Her face brightened fiintly. That 
momentary expression of relief told him how truly he would 
be befriending her if he consented to remain in the room. A 
position of retirement was offered to him by a recess formed 
by the central bay window of tlie library. If he occupied this 
place they could see or not see that he was present, as their 
own inclinations might decide them. 

“I will stay with you, Horace, as long as you wish me to be 
here.” Having answered in those terms, he stopped as he 
passed Mercy on his way to the window. His quick and 
kindly insight told him that he might still be of some service 
to her. A hint from him might show her the shortest and the 
easiest way of making her confession. Delicately and briefly 
he gave her the hint. “The first time I n et you,” ho said, 
“ 1 saw that your life had had its troubles. Let us hear how 
those troubles began.” 

He withdrew to his place in the recess. For the first time, 
since the fatal evening when she and Grace Koseberiy had met 
in the French cottage, Mercy Merrick looked back into the 
purgatory on earth of her past life, and told he?' sad story 
simply and truly in these words. 


232 


THE KEW MAGDALEN. 


CHAPTER XXVIL 


MAGDALEN’S APPRENTICESHIP, 



R Julian Gray has asked me to tell him, and to tell 


you, Mr. Holmcroft, how my troubles began. They 
began before my recollection. They began with my 


birth. 


“ My mother (as I have heard her say) ruined her prospects, 
when she was quite a young girl, by a marriage with one of 
her father’s servants — the groom who rode out with her. She 
suffered the usual penalty of such conduct as hers. After a 
short time she and her b.usband were separated — on the con- 
dition of her sacrificing to the man whom she had married the 
whole of the little fortune that she possessed in her own right. 

Gaining her freedom, my mother had to gain her daily 
bread next. Her family refused to take her back. She attached 
herself to a company of strolling players. 

“ She was earning a bare living in this way, when my father 
accidentally met with her. He was a man of high rank ; proud 
of his position, and well known in the society of that time for 
his many accomplishments and his refined tastes. My mother’s 
beauty fascinated him. He took her from the strolling players 
and surrounded her with every luxury that a woman could 
desire in a house of her own. 

“ I don’t know how long they lived together. I only know 
that my father, at the time of my first recollections, had aban- 
doned her. She had excited his suspicions of her fidelity — 
suspicions which cruelly wronged her, as she declared to her 
dying day. I believed her, because she was my mother. But 
I cannot expect others to do as I did — I can only repeat wdiat 
she said. My father left her absolutely penniless. He never 
saw her again ; and he refused to go to her when she sent to 
him in lier last moments on earth. 

“ She w’as back again among the strolling players when 1 
fitgt remember her. It was not an unhappy time for me. I 


magdaleh’s apprenticeship. 


283 


was the favourite pet and plaything of the poor actors. They 
taught me to sing and to dance at an age when other cliildren 
are just beginning to learn to read. At five years old I was in 
what is called ‘ the profession,’ and had made my poor little 
reputation in booths at country fairs. As early as that, Mr. 
Holmcrofb, I had begun to live under an assumed name — the 
prettiest name they could invent for me, ‘ to look well in the 
bills.’ It was sometimes a hard struggle for us, in bad seasons 
to keep body and soul together. Learning to sing and dance 
in public often meant learning to bear hunger and cold in pri- 
vate, when I was apprenticed to the stage. And yet I lived 
to look back on my days with the strolling players as the hap- 
piest days of my life ! 

“ I was ten years old when the first serious misfortune that 
1 can remember fell upon me. My mother died, worn out 
in the prime of her life. And not long afterwards the strolling 
company, brought to the end of its resources by a succession 
of bad seasons, was broken up. 

“I was left o'i. the world, a nameless penniless outcast, with 
one fatal inheritance — God knows I can speak of it without 
vanity, after what I have gone through !~-the inheritance ol 
my mother’s beauty. 

“ My only friends were the poor starved-out players. Two 
of them (husbancl and wife) obtained engagements in another 
company, and I was included in the bargain. The new man- 
ager by whom I was employed, was a drunkard and a brute. 
One night, I made a trifling mistake in the course of the per- 
formance — and I was savagely beaten for it. Perhaps I had 
inherited some of my father’s spirit — without, I hope also in- 
heriting my father’s pitiless nature. However that may be I 
resolved (no matter what became of me) never again to serve 
the man who had beaten me, I unlocked the door of our 
miserable lodging at daybreak the next morning ; and, at Urn 
years old, with my little bundle in my hand, I faced the world 
alone. 

“ My mother had confided to me, m her last moments, my 
father’s name and the address of his house in London. ‘ He 
may feel some compassion for you, (she said), ‘though he fe?ls 
none for me : try him.’ I had a few shillings, the last pitiful 
remains of my wages, in my pocket, and 1 was not far from 


234 


^HE NEW MAGDALEN. 


London. But I never went near my father: child as I wa3 
I would have starved and died rather than go to him I had 
loved my mother dearly; and I hated the man who had turned 
his back on her when she lay on her death bed. It made no 
differ(mce to me that he happened to be my father. 

“ Does this confession revolt you ? You look at me, Mr. 
Holmcroft, as if it did 1 

“Think a little. Sir. Does what I have just said condemn 
me as a heartless creature, even in my earliest years ? What 
is a father to a child — when the child has never sat on his knee, 
and never had a kiss or a present from him ? If we had met 
ill the street we should not have known each other. Perhaps, 
in after-days when I was starving in London, I may have beg- 
ged of my father without knowing it — and he may have thrown 
his daughter a penny to get rid of her, without knowing it 
cither ! What is there sacred in the relations between father 
and child, wlien they are such rc lations as these I Even the 
flowers of the field cannot grow without light and air to help 
them. How is a child’s love to grow, with nothing to help 

“ My small savings would have been soon exhausted, even 
if I had been old enough and strong enough to protect them 
myself. As things were, my few shillings Avere tak(m from me 
by Gypsies. I h^d no reason to complain. They gave me 
food and the shelter of their tents ; and they made me of use to 
them in various ways. After a wliile, hard times came to the 
Gypsies, as they had come to the strolling players, some of them 
were imprisoned ; the rest were dispersed. It was the season 
for hop-gathering at the time. I got employment among the 
hop-pickers next ; and that done, I went to London with my 
new friends. 

“ 1 have no wish to weary and pain you by dwelling on this 
part of my childhood in detail. It will be enough if 1 tell you 
that 1 sank lower and lower, until 1 ended in selling matches in 
thestreet. ]\Iy mother’s legacy gotme many a sixpence which m^i 
matclics would never have charmed out of the pockets of stran- 
gers if I had been an ugly child. My face, which was destined 
to be my greatest misfortune in after years, w'as my best iriend 
in those days. 

“Is there anything, Mr. Holmcroft in the life I a,m now try** 


MAGDALEN’S APPRENTICESHIP. 235 

Sng to describe which reminds you of a day when we were out 
walking together, not long since 1 

I surprised and offended you, I remember ; and it was not 
possible for me to explain my conduct at the time. Do you recol- 
lect the little wandering girl, with the miserable faded nosegay 
in her hand, who ran after us and begged for a lialfpenny 1 
I shocked you by bursting out crying when the child asked us 
to buy her a bit of bread. Now you know why 1 was so sorry 
for her. Now you know why I offended you the next day, by 
breaking an engagement with your mother and sisters and go- 
ing to see that child in her wretched home. After wliat I 
have confessed, you will admit that my poor little sister in 
adversity had the first claim on me. 

“ Let me go on. I am sorry if I have distressed you. Let 
me go on. 

“ The forlorn w^anderers of the streets have (as I found it) 
one way, always open to them, of presenting their sufl'erings 
to the notice of their rich and charitable fellow creatures. 
They have only to break the law — and they make a public ap- 
pearance in a court of justice. If the circumstances connected 
with their offence are of an interesting kind, they gain a second 
advantage : they are advertised all over England by a report 
in the newspapers. 

Yes ; even I have my knowledge of the law. I know that 
It completely overlooked me so long as I respected it ; Imt on 
two different occasions it became my best friend when I set it 
at defiance. My first fortunate offence was committed when 
I was just twelve years old. 

“ It was evening time, I was half dead with starvation ; 
the rain was falling ; the night was coming on. I begged — 
openly, loudly, as only a hungry child can beg. An old lady 
in a carriage at a shop door complained of my importunity. 
The policeman did his duty. The law gave me a supper and 
shelter at the station house that night. I appeared at the 
police-court, and, questioned by the magistrate, I told :ny story 
truly. It was the everyday story of thousands of children like 
me ; but it had one element of interest in it. I confessed to 
having iiad a father (he was then dead) who had been a man 
of rank; and I owned (just as openly as I owned everthing 
else), that I hy<d never applied to him for help, in resentment 


236 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


of his treatment of my mother. This incident was new, I 
suppose : it led to the appearance of my ‘ case ’ in the news- 
papers. The reporters further served my interests by describ- 
ing me as ‘pretty and interesting.’ Subscriptions were sent to 
the court. A benevolent married couple, in a respectable 
sphere of life, visited the workhouse to see me. I produced a 
favourable impression on them — especially on the wife. I was 
literally friendless. I had no unwelcome relatives to follow me 
and claim me. The wife was childless ; the husband was a 
good-natured man. It ended in their taking me away with 
them to try me in service. 

“ I have always felt the aspiration, no matter how low i 
may have Mien, to struggle upwards to a position above me ; 
to rise, in spite of fortune, superior to my lot in life. Perhaps 
some of my father’s pride may be at the root of this restless 
feeling in me. It seems to be a part of my nature. It brought 
me into this house, and it will go with me out of this house. 
It is my curse, or my blessing. I am not able to decide. 

“On the first night when I slept in my new home, I said to 
myself : ‘ They have taken me to be their servant } I will be 
fiomething more than that ; they shall end in taking me for 
their child.’ Before I had been a week in the house I was the 
wife’s favourite companion, in the absence of her husband 
at his place of business. She was a highly-accomplished wo- 
man ; greatly her husband’s superior in cultivation, and, un- 
fortunately for herself, also his superior in years. The love 
was all on her side. Excepting certain occasions, on which 
he roused her jealousy, they lived together on sufficiently 
friendly terms. She was one of the many wives who resign 
themselves to be disappointed in their husbands, and he vras one 
of the many husbands who never know what their wives really 
think of them. Her one great happiness was in teaching me. 
I was eager to learn ; I made rapid progress. At my pliant 
age I sohn acquired the refinements of language and manner 
which characterized my mistress. It is only the truth to say, 
that the cultivation which has made me capable of personating, 
a lady was her work. 

“For three happy years I lived under that friendly roof. I 
was between fifteen and sixteen years of age when the fatal 
inheritance from my mother cast its first shadow on my life. 


MAGDALEN’S APPRENTICESHIP. 


m 

One miserable day the v/ife’s motherly love for me changed, in 
an instant, to the jealous hatred that never forgives. Can you 
guess the reason 1 The husband fell in love with me. 

“I was innocent ; I was blameless. He owned it himself to 
the clergyman who was with him at his death. By that time 
years had passed — it was too late to justify me. 

“ He was at an age (when I was under his care) when men 
are usually supposed to regard women with tranquillity, if not 
with indifference. It had been the habit of years with me, to 
look on him as my second father. In my innocent ignorance 
of the feeling which really inspired him, I permitted him to in* 
dulge in little paternal familiarities with me, wliicli inflamed his 
guilty passion. His wife discovered him — not I. No words 
can describe my astonishment and my borrow when the first 
outbreak of her indignation forced on me the knowledge 
of the truth. On my knees I declared myself guiltless. On 
my knees I implored her to do justice to my purity and my 
youth. At other times the sweetest and the most considerate 
of women, jealousy had now transformed her to a perfect fury. 
She accused me of deliberately encouraging him ; she declared 
she would turn me out of the house with her own hands. Like 
other easy-tempered men, her husband had reserves of anger in 
him which it was dangerous to provoke. When his wife lifted 
her hand against me he lost ail self-control on his side. He 
openly told her that life was worth nothing to him, wnthout 
me ; he openly avowed his resolution to go with me when I 
left the house. The maddened woman seized him by the arm 
—I saw that and saw no more. I ran out into the street, panic* 
stricken. A cab was passing. I got into it, before he could 
open the house door, and drove to the only place of refuge I 
could think of — a small shop, kept by the widowed sister of 
one of our servants. Here I obtained shelter for the night. 
The next day he discovered me. He made his vile proposals 
lie offered me the whole of his fortune ; he declare:! his resolu- 
tion, say what I might, to return the next day. That night, by 
help of the good woman who had taken care of me — under 
cover of the darkness, as if I had been to blame ! — I was 
secretly removed to the East End of London, and placed under 
the charge of a trustworthy person who hved, in a very hum’ ii- 
way, by letting lodgings. 


288 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


“ Here, in a little back garret at the top of the house, I was 
thrown again on the world at an age when it was doubly 
perilous for me to be left to my own resources to earn the 
bread I eat, and the roof that covered me. 

“ I claim no credit to myself — young as I was; placed as I 
was between the easy life of Vice and the hard life of Virtue 
— for acting as I did. The man simply horrified me : my na- 
tural impulse was to escape from him. But let it be remem- 
bered, before I approach the saddest part of my sad story, that 
I was an innocent girl, and that' I was at least not to blame. 

“ Forgive me for dwelling as I have done on my early years. 
I shrink from speaking of the events that are still to come. 

“In losing the esteem of my first benefactress, I had in my 
friendless position, lost all hold on an honest life— except the 
one frail hold of needlework. The only reference of which I 
could now dispose was the recommendation of me bj'’ my landlady 
to a place of business which largely employed expert needle- 
women. It is needless for me to tell you how miserable woi k 
of that sort is remunerated — you have read about it in the 
newspapers. As long as my health lasted, I contrived to live 
and . to keep out of debt. Few girls could have resisted as long 
as I did the slowly-poisoning influences of crowded woikrooms, 
insufficient nourishment, and almost total privation of exercise. 
My life as a child had been a life in the open air — it had helped 
to strengthen a constitution naturally hardy, naturally free 
from all taint of hereditary disease. But my time came at 
lust. Under the cruel stress laid on it my health gave way. I 
was struck down by low fever, and sentence was pronounced 
on me by my fellow-lodgers : ‘ Ah, poor thing, her troubles 
will soon be at an end !’ 

“ The prediction might have proved true — I might never 
have committed the errors and endured the sufferings of after- 
years — If I had fiillen ill in another house. 

“ But it was my good, or my evil fortune— I dare not say 
which— to have interested in myself and my sorrows an actress 
at a suburban theatre, who occupied the room under mine. 
Except when her stage-duties tobk her away for two or three 
hours in the evening, this noble creature never left my bedside 
111 as she could afford it, her ])nrse ])aid m3' inevitable expenses 
while I lay helpless. The Landlady, moved by her example, 


Magdalen's apprenticeshtp. 


2*69 

accepted half the weekly rent of my room. Tlie doctor, with 
the Chrislian kindness of his profession, would take no fees. 
All tliat the tenderest care could accotnpiish was lavishe<l <»u 
me ; my ycnilh and niy constitution did the rest. I struggled 
back to life — and then 1 took up my needle again. 

I t may surprise you that I should have failed (having an 
actress for my dearest friend) to use the means of introduction 
thus olhued to me to try the stage — especially as my childi.-’o 
training had given me, in some small degree, a familiarity with 
the Art. ' 

I had only one motive for shrinking from an appearance 
at the theatre ; but it was strong enough to induce me to sub- 
mit to any alternative that remaiiiod, no matter how hopeless 
it might be. If 1 siiowed m3\s<,df on the public stage, my dis- 
covery by the man from whom I had escaped would be only a 
question of time. I knew him to be habitually a phiy-gocr, 
and a subscriber to a theatriciil newspaper. I had even heard 
him sp<‘ak of the theatre to whicii my friend was attached, and 
compare it advantageously vvitli [)laces of amusement of far 
higher pretensions. Sooner or later, if I joined the cmnpany, 
he would be certain to go and sec * the new jictress.’ The bai*6 
thought of it reconciled me to returning to my needle. . Before 
I was strong enough to endure the atmosphere of the cr<»wded 
workroom, 1 obtained permission, as a favour, to resume my 
occupation at home.'’ 

“ Surely iny clioice was the choice of a virtuous girl I And 
yet, the day when I returned to my needle Wiis the fatal day 
of my life. 

“ 1 had now not only to provide for the wants of the passii^g 
hour — 1 had iny debts to ]»ay. It was only to be done liv roil- 
ing harder than ever, and by living more [morly than (>ver. I 
soon paid the penalty, in my weakened state, of leading such a 
life as this. — (jne evening, my head (urnod suddenly giddy ;; 
my hea? t throbbed frightfully. 1 managed to open tlic window 
and to let the fresh air into the room ; and I felt better.' But- 
I was not suflicientiy recovered to be al)le to thread my needle.- 
1 thonglit to myself, ‘ If I go out for half an hour, a little- 
exercise may i)ut mo right again.’ I had not, as I sup])ose,- 
been out more than ten niinute.s, when the attack from whieb 
I liad suircred in my room was renewed. There was no 


240 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


near in which T could take refuge. I tried to ring the bell oi 
the nearest house-door. Before I could reach it, I fainted in 
the street. 

“ How long hunger and weakness left me at the mercy 
of the first stranger who might pass by, it is impossible for me 
to say. 

“ When I partially recovered my senses I was conscious ol 
being under shelter somewhere, and of having a wine glass 
containing some cordial drink held to my lips by a man. I 
managed to swallow — I don’t know how little, or how much. 
The stimulant had a very strange effect on me. Reviving me 
at first, it ended in stupefying me. I lost my senses once 
more. 

“ When I next recovered myself the day was breaking. I 
was in a bed in a strange room. A nameless terror seized me. 
1 called out. Three or four women came in wliose faces be- 
trayed even to my inexperienced eyes the shameless infamy oi 
their lives. I started up in the bed ; I implored them to tell 
me where I was and what had happened 

“ Spare me ! I can say no more. Not long since, you heard 
Miss koseberry call me an outcast from the streets. Now yon 
know — as God is my judge I am speaking the truth ! — now 
you know what made me an outcast, and in what measure I 
deserved my disgrace.” 

Her voice faltered, her resolution failed her for the first 
time. 

“Give me a few minutes,” she said, in low pleading tones. 
“ If I try to go on now, I am afraid I shall cry.” 

She took the chair which Julian had placed for her, turning 
her face aside so that neither of the men could see it. One of 
her hands was pressed over her bosom, the other hung listlessly 
at her side. 

Julian rose from the place that he had occupied. Horace 
neither moved nor spoke. His head was on his breast ; the 
traces of tears on his cheeks owned mutely that she had 
touched his heart. Would he forgive her ? Julian passed on, 
and approached Mercy’s chair. 

In silence he took the hand which hung at her side. In 
silence he lifted it to his lips and kissed it, as her brother 


MAGDALEN'S APPRENTICESHIP. 


241 


might have kissed it. She started but she never looked up. 
Some strange fear of discovery seemed to possess her. “ Horace T 
she whispered timidly. Julian made norejdy. He went back 
to his place, and allowed her to think it was Horace. 

The sacrifice was immense enough — feeling towards her as 
he felt — to be worthy of the man who made it. 

A few minutes had been all she asked for. In a few minutes 
she turned towards them again. Her sweet voice was steady 
once more ; her eyes rested softly on Horace as she went on. 

“ What was it possible for a friendless girl in my position 
to do, when the full knowledge of the outrage had been revealed 
to me 1 

“ If I had possessed near and dear relatives to protect and 
advise me, the wretches into whose hands 1 had fallen might 
have felt the penalty of the law. I knew no more of the 
formalities which set the law in motion than a child. But I 
had another alternative (you wdll say). Charitable societies 
would have received me and helped me, if I had stated niy 
case to them. I knew no more of the charitable societies than 
I knew of the law. At least, then, I might have gone back to 
the honest people among whom I had lived 1 When I recovertd 
my freedom, alter an interval of some days, I was ashamed to 
go back to the honest people. Helplessly and hopelessly, with- 
out sin or choice of mine, I drifted, as thousands of other wo- 
men have drifted, into the life which set a mark on me for the 
rest of my days. 

“ Are you surprised at the ignorance which this confession 
reveals 1 

“ You, who have your solicitors to inform you of legal reme- 
dies, and your newspajiers, circulars, and active friends, to 
sound the praises of charitable institutions continually in your 
ears — you, who possess these advantages, have no idea of the 
outer w’orld of ignorance in which your lost fellow-creatures 
live. They know nothing (unless they are rogues accustomed 
to prey on society) of your benevolent schemes to help them. 
The purpose of public charities and the way to discover and 
apply to them, ought to be posted at the corner of every street. 
What do we know of public dinners and eloquent sermons and 
neatly-printed circulars ? Every now and then the case of 
some forlorn crejiture (generally of a woman), who has com 
P 


242 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


mittecl suicide, within five minutes’ Wcilk perhcvps of an In- 
stitution wldcli would have opened its doors to lu r, appears 
in the newspapers, shocks you dreadfully, and is then foigotten 
again. Take^as much pains to make charities aiul asylums 
known among the people wilhoui money, as are takon to make a 
new play, a new journal, ora new medicine known among the 
people luiih money, and you W’ill save many a lost creature who 
is perishing now. 

“You will forgive and understand me if I say no more of 
this period of my life. Let me pass to the new incident in my 
career which brought me for the second time before the public 
notice in a court of law. 

“Sad as my experience has been, it has not taught me to 
think ill cf human nature. I had found kind hearts k; I'eel for 
me in my former troubles ; and I had friends — failhful, self- 
denying, generous friends — among my sisters in adversity now. 
One of these poor women (she has gone, I am glad to think, 
from the world that used her so hardly !) especially attracted 
my sympathies. She was the gentlest, the most unsi llish crea- 
ture I have ever met with. We lived together like sisters. 
More than once, in the dark hours wdien the though. b of self- 
destruction comes to a dcsjierate woman, the image of my poor 
devoted friend, left to suffer alone, rose in my mind and re- 
strained me. You will hardly understand it, but even we had 
our happy days. When she or 1 had a few shillings to spare, 
we used to offer one another little presents, and enjoy our 
simple pleasure in giving and receiving as keenly as if we had 
been the most reputable women living. 

“ One day I took my friend into a shop to buy her a ribbon 
■ — only a bow for her dress. Slie was to choose it, and I -was 
to pay for it, and it was to be the prettiest ribbon that money 
could buy. 

“ The shop was full ; we had to wait a little before we could 
be served. 

“ Next to me, as I stood at the counter with my companion, 
was a gaudily-dressed woman, looking at some handk<.irchiefs. 
The hand kerchiefs were finely embroidered, but the smart lady 
was hard to please. She tumbled them up disdainfully in a 
hea]), and asked for other specimens from the stock in the shop. 
The man, in clearing the handkerchiefs out of the ryay, sudden- 


Magdalen’s apprenticeship. 


243 


ly missed one. He was quite sure of it, from a peculiarity in 
the embroidery wliich made the handkerchief especiallly notice- 
able. I was poorly dressed, and I was close to the handker- 
chiefs. After one look at me, he shouted to the superintendent 
‘Shut the dq^ 1 There is a thief in the shop !' 

“ The door was closed ; the lost handkerchief was vainly 
sought for on the counter and on the floor. A robbery had 
been committed ; and I was accused of being the thief. 

“I will say nothing of what I felt — I will only tell you what 
happened. 

“ I was searched, and the handkerchief was discovered, on me. 
The woman who had stood next to me, on finding herself threa- 
tened with discovery, had no doubt contrived to slip the stolen 
handkerchief into my pocket. Only an accomplished thief 
could have escaped cletection in that way, without my know- 
ledge. It was useless, in the face of the facts, to declare my 
innocence. I had no character to appeal to. My friend tried 
to speak for me ; but what was she ? Only a lost woman like 
myself. My landlady’s evidence in favour of my honesty pro- 
duced no effect ; it Avas against lier that she let lodgings to peo- 
ple in my position. I was prosecuted, and found guilty. The 
tale of my disgrace is now complete. Mr. Holmcroft. No mat- 
ter whetlier I was innocent or not; the shame of it remains — 
I have been imprisoned for theft. 

“ The matron of the prison was the next person who took 
an interest in me. She reported favourably of my behaviour 
to the authorities ; and when I had served my time (as the 
phrase was among us) she gave me a letter to the kind friend 
and guardian of my later years— to the lady avIio is coming 
here to take me back with her to the Refuge. 

“ From this time the story of my life is little more than the 
story of a woman’s vain efforts to recover her lost place in the 
world. 

“ The matron, on receiving me into the Refuge, frankly ac- 
knowledged that there were terrible obstacles in iny way. 
But she saw that 1 was sincere, and she felt a good av O man’s 
sympathy and compassion for me. On my side, 1 did not shrink 
from beginning the sIoav and weary journey back again to a re- 
putable life, from the humblest starting-point— from domestic 
service. After first earning my new character in the Refuge, I 


244 . 


tflE NEW MAGDALEN. 


obtained a trial in a respectable house. I worked hard, and 
worked uncomplainingly but iny mother’s fatal legacy was against 
me from the first. ]\]y personal appearance exeited remark ; 
rny manners and habits were not the manners and habits of 
the women among whom my lot was cast. I tried one place 
after another— always with the same results. Suspicion and 
jealousy I could endure ; but I was defenceless when curiosity 
assailed me in its turn. Sooner or later inquiry led to discovery. 
Sometimes the servants threatened to give warning in a body 
—and I was obliged to go. Sometimes, where there was a 
young man in the family, scandal pointed at me and at him — 
and again I was obliged to go. If you care to know it, kliss 
Roseberry can tell you the story of those sad days. I confided 
it to her on the memoi al)le night when we met in the French 
cottage ; I have no heart to repeat it now. After awhile I 
wearied of the hopeless struggle. Despair laid its hold on me 
- — I lost all hope in the mercy of God. More than once I 
walked to one or other of the bridges, and looked over the para- 
pet at the river, ami said to myself, ‘ Other women have done 
it : why shouldn’t 1 1’ 

“You saved me at that time, Mr. Gray — as you have saved 
me since. I was one of your congregation when you preached 
in the chapel of the Refuge. You reconciled others besides me 
to our hard pilgrimage. In their name, and in mine, sir, I thank 
you. 

“ I forget how long it was after the bright day Avhen you 
comforted and sustained us that the w’ar broke out between 
France and Germany. But I can never forget the evening 
when the matron sent for me into her own room, and said. 
‘ My dear, your life here is a wasted life. If you have courage 
enough left to try it, I can give you another chance.’ 

“ I passed through a month of probation in a London hos- 
pital. A week after that, I wore the red cross of the Geneva 
Convention — I was appointed nurse in a French ambulance* 
When you first saw me, Mr. Ilolmcroft, I still had my nurse’s 
dress on, hidden from you and from everybody under a grey 
cloak. 

“ You know what the next event was ; you know how I en^ 
tered this house. 

“ I have not tried to make the worst of my trials and troubles 


Magdalen’s AmiENTicESHip. 


243 


in telling you what my life has been. I have honestly describ- 
ed it for what it was when I met with Miss Roseberry — a life 
without hope. May you never know the temptation that tried 
me when the shell struck its victim in the French cottage. 
There she lay — dead ! Her name was untainted. Her future 
promised me the reward which had been denied to the honest 
efforts of a penitent woman. My lost place in the world was 
offered back to me on the one condition, that I stooped to win 
it by a fraud. I had no prospect to look forward to ; I had no 
friend near to advise me and to save me ) the fairest years of 
my womanhood had been wasted in the vain struggle to recover 
my good name. Such was my position when the possibility of 
personating Miss Roseberry first forced itself on my mind. 
Impulsively, recklessly — wickedly, if you like — I seized the op- 
portunity, and let you pass me through the German lines under 
Miss Roseberry’s name. Arrived in England, having had time 
to reflect, 1 made my first and last effort to draw back before 
it was too late. I went to the Refuge, and stopped on the op- 
posite side of the street, looking at it. The old hopeless life of 
irretrievable disgrace confronted me as I fixed my eyes on the 
familiar door ; the horror of returning to that life was more 
than I could force myself to endure. An empty cab passed me 
at the moment. The driver held up his hand. In sheer de- 
spair I stopped him; and when he said ‘ Where to?’ — in sheer 
despair again I answered, ‘ Mablethorpe House.’ 

“ Of what I have suffered in secret since my own successful 
deception established me under Lady Janet’s care I shall say 
nothing, Many things which must have surprised you in my 
conduct are made plain to you by this time. You must have 
noticed long since that I was not a happy woman. Now you 
know why. 

“ My confession is made ; my conscience has spoken at last. 
You are released from your promise to me — you are free. 
Thank Mr. Julian Gray if I stand here, self-accused of the of- 
fence that I have committed, before the man whom I liavo 
wronged.” 


246 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 

SENTENCE IS PRONOUNCED ON HER, 

f T was clone. The last tones of her voice died away in 
silence. 

Her eyes still rested on Horace. After hearing what he 
had heard, could he resist that gentle pleading look 1 Would 
he forgive her 1 Awhile since J Lilian had seen tears on his 
cheeks, and had believed that he felt for her. Why was he now 
silent ? Was it possible that he only felt for himself 1 

For the last time — at the crisis of her life — Julian spoke 
for her. He had never loved her as he loved her at that mo- 
ment ; it tried even his generous nature to plead her cause 
with Horace against himself. But he had promised her, without 
reserve all the help that her truest friend could offer. Faith- 
fully and -manfully, he redeemed his promise. 

“ Horace !” he said. 

Horace slowly looked up. Julian rose and approached him. 
“ She has told you to thank me, if her conscience has spoken. 
Thank the noble nature which answered when I called upon it ! 
Own the priceless value of a woman who can speak the truth. 
Her heart-felt repentance is a joy in Heaven. Shall it not plead 
for her on earth 1 Honour her, if you are a Christian 1 Feel 
for her, if you are a man !” 

He waited. Horace never answered him. 

“ Mercy’s eyes turned tearfully on Julian. His heart was 
the heart that felt for her ! His words were the words which 
comforted and pardoned her ! When she looked back again at 
Horace, it was with an effort. His last hold on her was lost. 
In her inmost mind a thought rose unbidden — a thought 
which was noi; to be repressed. “ Can I ever have loved this 
man F’ 

She advanced a step towards him ; it was not possible, even 
yet, to completely forget the past. She held out her hand. 

He rose, on his side — without looking at her. 


SENTENCE IS PRONOUNCED ON HER. 


247 

** Before we part for ever,” she said to him, will you take 
my hand as a token that you forgive me 

He liesitated. He half lifted his hand. The next moment 
the generous impulse died away in liim. In its place came 
the mean fear of what might happen if he trusted himself to 
the dangerous fascination of her touch. His hand drojiped 
again at his side ; he turned away quickly. 

“I can’t forgive her !” he said. 

With that horrible confession — without even a last look at 
her — he left the room. 

At tlie moment when he opened the door, Julian’s contempt 
for him burst its way through all restraints. 

“ Horace,” he said, “ I pity you !” 

As the words escaped him, he looked back at Wercy. She 
had turned aside from both of them — she had retii-e,d to a dis- 
tant part of the library. The first bitter foretaste of what 
was in store for her when she faced the woild again had come 
to her from Horace ! The energy which had sustained her 
thus far, quaileil before the dreadful prospect — doubly dreadful 
to a woman — of obloquy and contempt. Hopeless cUiid helpless 
she sank on her knees before a little couch in the darkest corn- 
er of the room. “ Oh, Christ have mercy on me !” That was 
her prayer — no more. 

Julian followed her. He waited a little. Then, his kind 
hand touched her ; his friendly voice fell coirsolingly on her ear. 

“ Rise, poor wounded heart I Beautiful, purilied soul, God’s 
angels I'cjoicc over you ! Take your place among the noblest 
of God’s creatures !” 

He raised her as he spoke. All her heart went out to him. 
She caught his hand — she pressed it to her bosom ; sin* pressed 
it to her lips — then dropped it suddenly, and stood before him 
trembling like a frightened child. 

Forgive me !” was all she could say. was so lost and 
lonely — and you are so good to me !” 

She tried to leave him. It was useless — her strength was 
gone ; she caught at the head of the couch to sii])port her.self. 
He looked at her. The confession of his love was just rising 
to his lips — he looked again, and checked it. No ; not at that 
moment ; not when she was helpless and a hained ; not when 
her weakness might make her yield, only to regret it at a later 


248 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


time. The great heart which had spared her, and felt for her 
from the first, spared her and felt for her now. 

He, too, left her — but not without a word at parting. 

Don’t think of your future life just yet,” he said, gently. 
“ I have something to propose when rest and quiet have re- 
stored you.” He opened the nearest door — the door of the 
dining room — and went out. 

The servants engaged in completing the decoration of the 
dinner table noticed, when “ Mr. Julian” entered the room, 
that his eyes were “ brighter than ever.” He looked (they re- 
marked) like a man who “ expected good news.” They were 
inclined to suspect — though he was certainly rather young for 
it — that her ladyship’s nephew was in a fair way of prefer- 
ment in the church. 

Mercy seated herself on the couch. 

“ There are limits, in the physical organisation of man, to 
the action of pain. When suffering has reached a given point 
of intensity the nervous sensibility becomes incapable of feel- 
ing more. The rule of Nature, in this respect, applies not only 
to sufferers in the body, but, to sufferers in the mind as well. 
Grief, rage, terror, have also their appointed limits. The 
moral sensibility, like the nervous sensibility, reaches its period 
of absolute exhaustion, and feels no more. 

The capacity for suffering in Mercy had attained its term. 
Alone in the library, she could feel the physical relief of repose ; 
she could vaguely recall Julian’s parting words to her, and 
sadly wonder what they meant — and she could do no more. 

An interval passed ; a brief interval of perfect rest. 

She recovered herself sufficiently to be able to look at her 
watch and to estimate the lapse of time that might yet pass 
before Julian returned to her as he had promised. While her 
mind was still languidly following this train of thought, sha 
was disturbed by the ringing of a bell in the hall, used to sum- 
mon the servant whose duties were connected with that part 
of the house. In leaving the library, Horace had gone out by 
the door which led into the hall and had failed to close it. She 
plainly heard the bell — and a moment later (more plainly 
still) she heard Lady Janet’s voice ! 

She started to her feet. Lady Janet’s letter was still in the 


SENTENCE IS PRONOUNCED ON HER. 


249 


pocket of her apron — the letter which imperatively command- 
ed her to abstain from making the very confession that had just 
passed her lipsl It was near the dinner-hour; and the 
library was the favourite place in which the mistress of the 
house and her guests assembled at that time. It was no mat- 
ter of doubt ; it was an absolute certainty that Lady Janet 
had only stopped in the hall on her way into the room. 

The alternative for Mercy lay between instantly leaving the 
library by the dining-room door — or remaining where slie was 
at the risk of being sooner or later compelled to own that she 
had deliberately disobeyed her benefactress. Exhausted by 
what she had already suffered, she stood trembling and irreso- 
lute, incapable of deciding which alternative she should choose. 

Lady Janet’s voice, clear and resolute, penetrated into the 
room. She was reprimanding the servant who had answered 
the hell. 

“ Is it your duty in my house to look after the lamps ] 

“ Yes, my Lady.” 

And is it my duty to pay you your wages V* 

If you please, my lady.” 

“ Why do I fijid the light in the hall dim, and the wick of 
that lamp smoking ? I have not failed in my duty to You. 
Don’t let me find you failing again in your duty to Me.” 

(Never had Lady Janet’s voice sounded so sternly in Mercy’s 
ear as it sounded now. If she spoke with that tone of severity 
to a servant who had neglected a lamp, what had her adopted 
daughter to expect, when she discovered that her entreaties 
und her commands had been alike set at defiance ?) 

Having administered her reprimand. Lady Janet had not 
done with the servant yet. She had a question to put to him 
next. 

Where is Miss Roseberry ?” 

“ In the library, my lady.’ 

Mercy returned to the couch. She could stand no longer ; 
she had not even resolution enough left to lift her eyes to the 
door. 

Lady Janet came in more rapidly than usual. She advanced 
to the couch, and tapped Mercy playfully on the cheek with 
two of her fingers. 

“ You lazy child ! Not dressed for dinner ? Oh fie, fie!’* 


250 


TUE NEW MAGDALEN. 


Her tone was as playfully affectionate as the action which 
had accompanied .her words. In speechless astoiiisliiiieiit Mercy 
looked up at her. 

Always reinarkahle for the state and splandonr of her dress, 
Lady Janet had, on this occasion, surpassed herself. There she 
stood leveale:) in her grandest velvet, her riclu'st jewellery, her 
finest lace — with no one to entertain at the dinner-tahle but the 
ordinary members of the circle at Mablethorpe House. Notic- 
ing tills as s‘i\ange to begin with, Mercy further observed, for 
the first time in her experience, that Lady Jant't’s eyes avoided 
meeting hers. The old lady took her place com|)anionably on 
the couch ; she ridiculed her “lazy child’s” plain dress, without 
an ornament of any sort on it, with her best grace ; she affec- 
tionately put her arm round Mercy’s waist, and naarranged with 
her own hand the disordered locks of Mercy’s hair — but the 
instant IMercy herself looked at her. La ly Janet’s eyes dis- 
covered something suin’emely interesting in tl^ familiar objects 
that surrounded her on the libiary walls- 

How were these changes to be interpreted? To what pos- 
sible conclusion did they point? 

Julian’s profounder knowledge of human nature, if Julian 
had been present, might have found the clue to the mystery. 
He might have surmised (incredible as it was), that Mercy’s 
timidity before Lady Janet was fully reci[)rocated by Lady 
Janet’s timidity before Mercy. It was even so. Tlie woman 
whose imuKAaible composui’e had compiereel Grace Roseberry’s 
utmost insolence in the hour of her triumph — the woman who 
without once flinching, had faced every other cons Tpience of 
her resolution to ignore Mercy’s true po.sition in the house — 
quailed for the first time, when she found herself face to face 
with the ^ cry person for whom she had sutTored and sacrificed 
so much. Slie had shrunk from the meeting with Mercy, as 
Mercy had shrunk from the meeting with her. The splendour 
of her diess meant simply that, when otlu'r excr.ses for delaying 
the meeting ilown stairs had all been exhansied, the excuse of 
a long and elaborate toilet had been tried m'xb. Even the mo- 
ments occu{>ied in reprimanding the servant had been moments 
seized on as the ]iretext for another dela3^ The ha^ty entrance 
into the room, the m rvous assumption of ])l.(y{uliies.s in lan- 
guage and manner, the evasive and wandering eyes, were hU 


SENTENCE IS PRONOUNCED ON HER 


251 


referable to the same cause. In the presence of others Lady 
Janet had successlully silenced the protest of her wvn inbred 
delicacy and inbred sense of honour. In the presence 
of Mercy, whom she loved with a mother’s love — in the 
presence of Mercy, for whom she had stooped to deliber- 
ate concealment of the truth — all that was high and noble in 
the woman’s nature rose in her and rebuked Iht. What will 
the daughter of my adoption, the child of my first and last ex-| 
perience of maternal love, think of m(‘, now tliat 1 have made 
myself an accomplice in the fraud of which she is ashamed ? 
How can I look her in the face, when 1 have not hesitated, out’ 
of selfish consideration for my own tranquillity, to forbid that' 
frank avowal of the truth which her finer sense of duty had 
spontaneously bound her to make ! Those were the torturing 
questions in Lady Janet’s mind, while her arm w^as wound 
affectionately round Mercy’s waist, while her fingerswere busy-| 
ing themselves familiarly with the arrangement of Mercy’s hair.l 
Thence, and thence only, sprang the im])ulse which set her' 
talking, with an uneasy affectation of frivolity, of ary topic 
within the range of conversation, so long as it related to the 
future, and completely ignored the present and the past. 

“The winter here is unendurable.” Lady Janet began. 
have been thiidving, Grace, about what we had better do next.” 

Mercy started. Lady Janet had called her “Grace.” Lady 
Janet was still deliberately assuming to be innocent of the fain- 
test susjdcion of the truth. 

“ No !” resumed her ladyship, affecting to misunderstand 
Mercy’s movement, “you are not to go up now and dress. 
There is no time, and I am quite ready to excuse you. You 
are a foil to me, my dear. You have reached the perfection of 
shabbiness. Ah ! I remember when I had my whims and fancies 
too, and when I looked well in anything I wore, just as you 
do. No more of tiiat. As I was saying, I have been thinking 
and planning what we are to do. We really can’t stay here. 
Cold one day, and hot the next — what a climate ! As for 
society, v.diat do we lose if we go away 1 There is no such 
thing as society now. Assemblies of well-dressed mobs meet 
at each other’s houses, tear each other’s clothes, tread on each 
other’s toes. If you are particularly lucky you sit on the stair- 
case^ you get a tepid ice, and you heai' vapid talk in slang 


THE NEW MAGDALEN 


pi liases all round you. There is modern society. If we had \ 
good opera it would be something to stay in London for. Look 
at the programme for the season on that table — promising as 
much as possible on paper and performing as little as possible 
on the stage. The same words, sung by the same singers year 
after year, to the same stupid people — -in short, the dullest 
musical evenings in Europe. No ! the more I think of it, the 
more plainly I perceive that there is but one sensible choice 
before us : we must go abroad. Set that pretty head to work ; 
choose north or south, east or west; it’s all the same to me. 
Where shall we go 1 ” 

Mercy looked at her quickly as she put the question. 

Lady Janet, more quickly yet, looked away at the programme 
of the opera-house. Still the same melancholy false pre- 
tences ! still the same useless and cruel delay ! Incapable of 
enduring the position now forced upon her, Mercy put her 
hand into the pocket of her apron, and drew from it Lady 
Janet’s letter. 

“ Will your ladyship forgive me,” she began, in faint falter- 
ing tones, “if I venture on a painful subject? I hardly dare 

acknowledge” In spite of her resolution to speak out 

plainly, the memory of past love and past kindness prevailed 
with her ; the next words died away on her lips. She could 
only hold up the letter. 

Lady Janet declined to see the letter. Lady Janet suddenly 
became absorbed in the arrangement of her bracelets. 

“ I know what you daren’t acknowledge, you foolish child !” 
she exclaimed. “ You daren’t acknowledge that you are tired 
of this dull house. My dear ! I am entirely of your opinion — 
I am weary of my own magnificence ; I long to be living in one 
snug little room, with one servant to wait on me. I’ll tell you 
what we will do. We will go to Paris in the first place. My 
excellent Migliore, prince of couriers, shall be the only person 
in attendance. He shall take a lodging for us in one of the 
unfashionable quarters of Paris. We will rough it, Grace (to 
use the slang phrase) merely for a change. We will lead what 
they call a ‘ Bohemian life.’ I know plenty of writers and pain- 
ters and actors in Paris — the liveliest society in the world, my 
until one gets tired of them. We will dine at the res- 
taurant, and go to the play, and drive about in shabby little 


SENTENCE IS PRONOUNCED ON HER. 


253 


hired carriages. And when it begins to get monotonous (which 
it IS only too sure to dol) we will spread our wings and fly 
to Italy, and cheat the winter in that way. There is a plan 
for you ! Migliore is in town. 1 will send to him this evening 
and we will start to-morrow.” 

Mercy made another effort. 

“ 1 entreat your ladyship to pardon me,” she resumed. “ I 
have something serious to say. I am afraid” 

“I understand! You are afraid of crossing the Channel, 
and you don’t like to acknowledge it. Pooh ! The passage 
barely lasts two hours ; we will shut ourselves up in a private 
cabin. I will send at once — the courier may be engaged. Eing 
the bell.” 

“ Lady Janet, I must submit to my hard lot. I cannot hope 

to associate myself again with any future plans of yours” 

, “ What I you are afraid of our ‘ Bohemian life’ in Paris 1 

Observe this, Grace I If there is one thing I hate more than 
another, it is ‘ an old head on young shoulders.’ I say no more. 
Eing the bell.” 

“ This cannot go on. Lady Janet I No words can say how 
unworthy I feel of your kindness, how ashamed 1 am” 

“ Upon my honour, my dear, I agree with you. You migh^ 
to be ashamed, at your age, of making me get up to ring the 
belL” 

Her obstinacy was immovable ; she attempted to rise from 
the couch. But one choice was left to Mercy. She anticipated 
Lady Janet, and rang the bell. 

The man-servant came in. He had his little letter tray in 
his hand, with a card on it, and a sheet of paper beside the 
card, which looked like an open letter. 

“You know where my courier lives when he is in London ?” 
asked Lady Janet. 

''Yes, my lady.” 

Send one of the grooms to him on horseback ; I am in a 
hurry. The courier is to come here without fail to-morrow 
morning, in time for the tidal train to Paris. You understand ? ” 

“ Yes, my lady.” 

“What have you got there ? Anything for me 

“ For Miss Eoseberry, my lady.” 

As he answered, the man handed the card and the open letter 
to Mercy. 


254 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


“ The lady is waiting in the morning-room, miss. She wished 
me to say she lias time to spare, and she will wait lor you if 
you are not ready yet.” 

Having delivered his message in those terms, he withdrew. 

Mercy read the name on the card. The matron had arrived ! 
She looked at the letter next. It appeared to be a printed cir- 
cular, with some lines in pencil added on the empty page. 
Printed lines and written lines swam before her eyes. She felt 
rather than saw Lady Janet’s attention steadily and suspicious- 
ly fixed on her. With the matrom’s arrival the foredoomed 
end of the flimsy false pretences and the cruel delays had come. 

“ A friend of yours, my dear V’ 

“ Yes, Lady Janet.” 

“ Am I acquainted with her f* 

“ I think not. Lady Janet.” 

“ You appear to be agitated. Does your visitor bring bad 
news 1 Is there anything that I can do for you 1 ” 

“ You can add — immeasurably add, madam — to all your 
pa.st kindness if you will only bear with me and forgive me.” 

*‘Bear with you and forgive you 1 I don’t understand.” 

** I will try to explain. Whatever else you may think of 
me. Lady Janet, for God’s sake don’t think me ungrateful.” 

Lady Janet held up her hand for silence. 

I dislike explanations,” she said sharply. Nobody ought 
to know that better than you, Perhaps the lady’s letter will 
explain for you. Why have you not looked at it yet ‘I *’ 

“I am in great trouble, madam, as y^.u noticed just now” — 

“Have you any objection to my knowing who your visitor is ?” 

“ No, Lady Janet.” 

“ L^t me look at her card, then.” 

Mercy gave the matron’s card to Lady Janet, as she had 
given the matron’s telegram to Horace. 

Lady Janet read the name on the card— considered — de- 
cided that it w'as a name quite unknown to her — and lottked 
next at the address : “ Western District Refuge, hlilburn 
Road.” 

“ A lady connected with a Refuge ? ” she said, speaking to 
herself ; “ and calling here by appointment — if I remember 
the servant’s message ? A strange time to choose, if she has 
come for a subscription.” 


SENTENCE IS PRONOUNCED ON HER. 


255 

She paused. Her brow contracted ; her face liardcned. A 
word from her would now have brought the interview to its 
inevilal)]e end, and she refused to s})eak the -word. To the 
last moment she persisted in ignoring the truth ! Placing the 
card on tlie couch at her side, she pointed with her long yeh 
low-white forefinger to the printed letter lying side by side 
with her own letter on Mercy’s lap. 

“ Do you mean to read it or not 1 ” she asked. 

IMcrcy lifted her eyes, fast filling with tears, to Lady Janet’s 
face. 

“ J\Iay I beg that your ladyship wdll read it for me ? ” she 
said — and placed the matron’s letter in Lady Janet’s hand. 

It Avas a printed circular announcing a new development in • 
the charitable work of the Eefuge. SLd)scribers were informed 
that it had been decided to extend the shelter and the train* 
ing of the institution (thus far devoted to fallen women alone) 
so as to include destitute and hel])less children found wander- 
ing in the streets. The question of the number of children to"' 
be thus rescued and protected Avas left dependant, as a matter 
of course, on the bounty of the friends of the L’efuge ; the cost 
of Uie maintenance of each one child being stated at the low- 
"■.gsibie rate. A list of influential persons who had in- 

their subscriptions so as to cover the cost, and a brief 

statement of the progress already made Avith tlie new Avork 
conq)leted the appeal, and brought the circular to its end. 

The lines traced in pencil (in the matron’s hand Avriting) fol- 
lowed on the blank page. 

“Your letter tells me, my dear, that you avouUI like — re- 
membering your own childhood — to be employed Avhen you re- 
turn among as in saving other poor children left lu'lpless on 
the world. Our circular Avill inform you that 1 am able to 
meet your wishes. My first errand this evening in your neigh- 
bourhood Avas to take charge of a poor child — a little girl — 
wdio stands sadly in need of our care. 1 have ventured to 
bring her Avith me, thinking she might help to reconcile you to 
the coming change in your life. You will find us both waiting 
to go back wiih you to the old home. 1 Avrite this instead of 
saying it, hearing from the servant that you are not alone, 
and being unwilling to intrude myself, as a stranger, on the 
lady of the iiouse.” 


256 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


Lady Janet read the pencilled lines, as she had read the 
printed sentences, aloud. Without a word of comment, she 
laid the letter where she had laid the card ; and, rising from 
her scat, stood for a moment in stern silence, looking at Mercy. 
The sudden change in her which the letter had produced — 
quietly as it had taken place — was terrible to see. On the 
frowning brow, in the flashing eyes, on the hardened lips, out 
raged love and outraged pride looked down on the lost woman 
and said, as if in words. You have roused us at last. 

“If that letter means anything,” she said, “ it means you 
are about to leave my house. There can be but one reason for 
your taking such a step as that.” 

“ It is the only atonement I can make, madam 

“ I see another letter on your lap. Is it my letter % ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Have you read it 1 ” 

“ I have read it.” 

“ Have you seen Horace Holmcroft ? * 

« Yes.” 

“ Have you told Horace Holmcroft”— 

“ Oh, Lady Janet !” 

“Don’t interrupt me. Have you told Horace Holly*- 
T^hat my letter positively forbade you to communicate, eii,.. 
to him or to any living creature? I want no protestations and 
excuses. Answer me instantly ; and answer in one word — 
Yes, or no.” 

Not even that haughty language, not even those pitiless 
tones, could extinguish in Mercy’s heart the sacred memories 
of past kindness and past love. She fell on her knees — her 
out-stretched hands touched Lady Janet’s dress. Lady Janet 
sharply drew her dress away, and sternly repeated her last 
words. 

“ Y’'es ? or no ? 

“Yes.” 

She had owned it at last ! To this end. Lady Janet had .sub- 
mitted to Grace Roseberry ; had offended Horace Holmcroft j 
had stooped for the first time in her life to concealments and com- 
promises that degraded her. After all that she had sacrificed and 
suffered— til ei e Mercy knelt at her feet, self-convicted of viola- 
ting her commands, trampling on her feelings, deserting her 


SENTENCE IS Pr^ONOUNCED ON HER. 257 

house ! And who was the woman who had done this ? The 
same woman who had perpetrated the fraud, and who per- 
sisted in her fraud, until her benefactress had descended to be- 
come her accomplice. Then, and then only, she had suddenly 
discovered that it was her sacred duty to tell the truth ! 

In proud silence, the great lady met the blow that had fallen 
on her. In proud silence ,5he turned her back on her adopted 
daughter, and walked to the door. 

Mercy made her last appeal to the kind friend whom she had 
offended — to the second mother whom she had loved. 

“Lady Janet! Lady Janet! Don’t leave me without a 
word. Oh, madam, try to feel for me a little ! I am returning 
to a life of humiliation — the shadow of my old disgrace is falling 
on me once more. We shall never meet again. Even though 
I have not deserved it, let my repentance plead with you I Say 
you forgive me ! 

Lady Janet turned round on the threshold of the door. 

“ I never forgive ingratitude,” she said. “Go back to the 
Refuge.” 

The door opened, and closed on her. Mercy was alone again 
in the room. 

Unforgiven by Horace, unforgiven by Lady Janet ! She put 
her hands to her burning head — and tried to think. Oh, for 
the cool air of the night ! Oh, for the friendly shelter of the 
Refuge ! She could feel those sad longings in her : it was im- 
possible to think. 

She rang the bell — and shrank back the instant she had done 
it. Had she any right to take that liberty ? Slie ought to have 
thought of it before she rang. Habit — all habit. How many 
hundreds of times she had rung the bell at Mablethorpe House! 

The servant came in. She amazed the man — she spoke to 
him so timidly ; she even apologised for troubling him ! 

“ I am sorry to disturb you. Will you be so kind as to say 
to the lady that I am ready for her ? ” 

“ Wait to give that message,” said a voice behind them, 
“ until you hear the bell rung again.” 

Mercy looked round in amazement. Julian had returned to 
the library by the dining-room door. 


258 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE LAST TRIAL. 

f HE servant left them together. Mercy spoke first. 

“ Mr. Gray !” she exclaimed, “ why liave you delayed 
my message 1 If you knew all, you would know that 
it is far from being a kindness to me to keep me in this house. 

He advanced closer to her — surprised by her words, alarmed 
by her looks. 

“ Has any one been here in my absence 1 ” he asked. 

“Lady Janet has been here in your absence. I can’t speak 
of it — my heart feels crushed — I can bear no more. Let me 

Briefly as she had replied, she had said enough. Julian’s 
knowledge of Lady Janet’s character told him what had hap- 
pened. His face shewed plainly that he was disappointed as 
well as distressed. 

“ I had hoped to have been with you when you and my aunt 
met, and to have j_jrevented this,” he said. “ Believe me, she 
will atont) for all that she may have harshly and hastily done, 
when she has had time to think. Try not to regret it, if she has 
made your hard sacrifice harder still. She has only raised you 
the higher — she has additionally ennobled you and endeared 
you in my estimation. Forgive me, if I own this in plain words. 
T cannot control myself — I feel too strongly.” 

At other times Mercy might have heard the coming avowal 
in his tones, might have discovered it in his eyes. As it was, 
her delicate insight was dulled, her fine perception was blunted. 
She held out her hand to him, feeling a vague conviction that 
he was kinder to her than ever — and feeling no more. 

“ I must thank you for the last time,” she said. “ As long 
as life is left, my gratitude will be a part of my life. Let me 
go. While I can still control myself, let me go !” 

She tried to leave him, and ring the belL He held her hand 
firmly, and drew her closer to him. 


THE LAST TRIAL. 


250 


** To the Refuge ? ” he asked. 

Yes ! ” she said. Home again ! ” 

“ Don’t say that ! ” he exclaimed. “ I can’t bear to hear it. 
Don’t call the Refuge your home ! ” 

‘‘ What else is it 1 Where else can I go ? ” 

'‘I ha\e come here to tell you. I said, if you remember, I 
had something to propose.” 

She felt the fervent pressure of his hand ; she saw the mount- 
ing enthusiasm flashing in his eyes. Her weary mind roused 
itself a little. She began to tremble under the electric influence 
of his touch. 

“.Something to propose ? ” she repeated. “ What is there to 
propose ?” 

“ Let me ask you a question on my side. What have you 
done to-day ? ” 

“ You know what I have done — it is your work,” she an- 
swered humbly. “ Why return to it now '? ” 

“ I return to it for the last time ; I return to it with a purpose 
which you will soon understand. You have abandoned your 
marriage engagement ; you have forfeited Lady Janet’s love ; 
you have ruined all your worldly prospects— you are now return- 
ing, self-devoted, to a life which you have yourself described as 
a life without hope. And all this you have done of your own 
free will — at a time when you are absolutely secure of your po- 
sition in the house — for the sake of speaking the truth. Now 
tell me. Is a woman who can make that sacrifice a woman who 
will prove unworthy of the trust, if a man places in her keeping 
his honour and his name ? ” 

She understood him at last. She broke away from him with 
a cry. She stood with her hands clasped, trembling and look- 
ing at him. 

He gave her no time to think. The words poured from his 
lips, without conscious will or conscious effort of his own. 

“ Mercy, from the first moment when I saw you I loved 
you ! You are free ; I may own it ; I may ask you to be my 
wife!” 

She drew back from him farther and farther, with a wild im- 
ploring gesture of her hand. 

“ No r no 1 ” she cried. “ Think of what you are saying ! 
Think of what you would sacrifice ! It cannot, must not, be ! ” 


260 


THE KEW MAGDALEN. 


His face darkened with a sudden dread. His head fell on 
his breast. His voice sank so low that she could barely hoar 
It : 

“ I had forgotten something,” he said. You have reminded 
me of it.” 

She ventured back a little nearer to him. “ Have I offended 
you.” 

He smiled sadly. “ You have enlightened me. I had for- 
gotten that it doesn’t follow, because I lo/e you, that you 
should love me in return. Say that it is so, Mercy — and I 
leave you.” 

A faint tinge of colour rose on her face — then left it again 
paler than ever. Her eyes looked downward timidly under the 
eager gaze that he fastened on her. 

“ How can I say so 1 ” she answered simply. “ Where is 
the woman in my place whose heart could resist you ? ” 

He eagerly advanced ; he held out his arms to her in breatli- 
less speechless joy. She drew back from him once more with a 
look that horrified him — a look of blank despair. 

“ Am I fit to be your wife ? ” she asked. “ Must I remind 
3 ^ou of what you owe to your high position, your spotless 
integrity, your famous name ? Think of all that you have done 
for me, and then think of the black ingratitude of it if I ruin 
you for life by consenting to our marriage — if I selfishl}', 
cruelly, wickedly drag you down to the level of a woman like 
me ? ” 

“ I raise you to my level when I make you my wife,” he an- 
swered. ‘‘For heaven’s sake do me justice! Don’t refer me 
to the world and its opinions. It rests with you, and you 
alone, to make the misery or the happiness of my life. The 
world ! Good God ! what can the world give me in exchange 
for You !” 

She clasped her hands imploringly ; the tears flowed fast over 
her cheeks. 

“ Oh, have pity on my weakness 1 ” she cried. “ Kindest, 
best of men, help me to do my hard duty towards you I It is 
so hard, after all that I have suftered — when my lieart is yearn- 
ing for peace and happiness and love 1 ” She checked herself, 
shuddering at the words that had escaped her. Remember 
how Mr. Holmcroft has used me 1 Remember how Lady Janet 


TUE LAST TRIAL. 


261 


has left me ! Eemember what I have told you of my life 1 
The scorn of every creature you know would strike at you 
through me. No ! no ! no ! Not a word more. Spare me ! 
pity me ! leave me ! 

Her voice failed her : sobs choked her utterance. He sprang 
to her and took her in his arms. She was incapable of resist- 
ing him; but there was no yielding in her. Her head lay on 
his bosom, passive — horribly passive, like the head of a corpse. 

“Mercy! My, darling! We will go away — we will leave 
England — we will take refuge among new people, in a new 
world — I will change my name — I will break with relatives, 
friends, everybody. Anything, anything, rather than lose 
you 1 ” 

She lifted her head slowly and looked at him. 

He suddenly released her ; he reeled back like a man stag- 
gered by a blow, and dropped into a chair. Before she had 
uttered a word he saw the terrible resolution in her face — 
Heath, lather than yield to her own weakness and disgrace him. 

She stood with her hands tightly clasped in front of her. 
Her grand head was raised ; her soft grey eyes shone again un- 
dinimed by tears. The storm of emotion had swept over her 
and had passed away. A sad tranquillity was in her face ; a 
gentle resignation was in her voice. The calm of a martyr was 
the calm that confronted him as she spoke her last words. 

“ A woman who lias lived my life, a woman who has suffered 
what I have suffered, may love you- as I love you — but she 
must not be your wife. That place is too high above her. Any 
other place is too far below her and below you.” She paused, 
and advancing to the bell gave the signal for her departure. 
That done, she slowly retraced her steps until she stood at 
Julian’s side. 

Tenderly she lifted his head, and laid it for a moment on 
her bosom. Silently she stooped, and touched his forehead 
with her lips. All the gratitude that filled her heart and all 
the sacrifice that rent it were in those two actions — so modest- 
ly, so tenderly performed 1 As the last lingering pressure of 
her fingers left him Julian burst into tears. 

The servant answered the bell. At the moment when he 
opened the door a woman’s voice was audible, in the hall, 
fijjeaking to hiuL 


262 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


“ Let the child go in,” the voice said. “ I will wait here.*** 

The child appeared — the same forlorn little creature who had 
reminded Mercy of her own early years, on the day when she 
and Horace Holmcroft had been out for their walk. 

There was no beauty in this child ; no halo of romance 
brightened the commonplace horror of her story. She came 
cringing into the room staring stupidly at the magnificence 
all round her — the daughter of the London streets ! the pet 
creation of the laws of political economy ! the savage and ter- 
rible product of a worn-out system of government and of a civi- 
lisation rotten to its core ! Cleaned for the first time in her 
life ; fed sufficiently for the first time in her life ; dressed in 
clothes instead of rags for the first time in her life, Mercy’s sis- 
ter in adversity crept fearfully over the beautiful carpet, and 
stopped wonderstruck before the marbles of an inlaid table — 
a blot of mud on the splendour of the room. 

Mercy turned from Julian to meet the child. The woman’s 
heart, hungering in. its horrible- isolation for something that it 
might harmlessfy love, welcomed the rescued waif of the streets 
as a consolation sent from God. She caught the stupefied little 
creature up in her arms. “ Kiss me ? ” she whispered in the 
reckless agony of the moment. “ Call me sister 1 ” The child 
stared vaca ntly. Sister meant nothing to her mind but an older 
girl who was strong enough to beat her. 

She put the child down again, and turned for a last look at 
the man whose happiness she had wrecked — in pity to hiitk 

He had never moved. His head was down \ his face was 
hidden. She went back to him in a few steps. 

“ The others have gone from me without one kind word 
Can you forgive me ? ” . 

He held out his hand to her without looking up. Sorely as ] 
she had wounded him, his generous nature understood her. 1 
True to her from the first, he was true to her still. 

“ God bless, and comfort you,” he said in broken tones. “ The 
earth holds no nobler woman than you.” 

She knelt and kissed the kind hand that pressed hers for the 
last time. “ It doesn’t end with this world,” she whispered, 

“ there is a better world to come ! ” Tlien she rose, and went i 
back to the child. Hand-in-hand, the two citizens of the Gov- ^ 
ernment of God — outcasts of the Government ot Man — passed 


THE LAST TKIAL. 


263 


slowly dow the length of the room. Then, out into the hall. 
Then, out into the night. The heavy clang of the closing door 
tolled the knell of their departure. They were gone. 

But the orderly routine of the house — inexorable as death — 
pursued its appointed course. As the clock struck the hour 
the dinner bell rang. An interval of a minute passed, and 
marked the limit of delay. The butler appeared at the dining- 
room door. 

“ Dinner is served, sir.” 

Julian looked up. The empty room met his eye. Some- 
thing white lay on the carpet close by him. It was her hand- 
kerchief — wet with her tears. He took it up and pressed it to 
his lips. Was that to be the last of her ? Had she left him 
for ever ? 

The native energy of the man, arming itself with all the 
might of his love, kindled in him again. No ! while life was 
in him, while time was before him, there was the hope of 
winning her yet ! 

He turned to the servant, reckless of what his face might 
betray. 

“ Where is Lady Janet ?” 

“ In the dining-room, sir.” 

He reflected for a moment. His own influence had failed. 
Through what other influence could he now hope to reach her ? 
As the question crossed his mind, the light broke on him. He 
%%w the way back to her — through the influence of Lady Janeh 

“ Her ladyship is waiting, sir.” 

Julian entered the dining-rooncu 


26 i 


THE NEW 51AGDALEN. 


EriLOGUE. 

CONTAINING SELECTIONS FROM THE COFRESFONDENCE OP 
MISS GFaVCE ROSEBERIIY AND MR. HORACE HOLMCROFT ; 
TO WHICH ARE ADDED 

EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF THE REVEREND JULIAN GRAl 


L 

** From Mr. Horace Hoiaicroft to Miss Grace Eoseberry 

“ I HASTEN to thank you, clear Miss Eoseberry, for your 
last kind letter, received by yesterday’s mail from Canada. Be- 
lieve me, I appreciate your generous readiness to pardon and 
forget what I so rudely said to you at a time when the arts of 
an adventuress had blinded me to the truth. In the graco 
which has forgiven me I recognise the inbred sense of justice 
of a true lady. Birth and breeding can never fail to assert 
themselves; I believe in them, thank God, more firmly than 
ever. 

“ You ask me to keep you informed of the progress of Julian 
Gray’s infatuation, and of the course of conduct pursued to- 
wards him by Mercy Merrick. 

“ If you liad not favoured me by explaining your object, I 
might have felt some surprise at receiving, from a lady in your 
position, such a request as this. But the motives by which you 
describe yourself as being actuated are beyond dispute. The 
existence of Society, as you truly say, is threatened by the 
present lamentable prevalence of Liberal ideas throughout the 
length and breadth of the land. We can only hope to protect 
ourselves against imposters interested in gaining a position 
among persons of our rank, by becoming in some sort (un- 
pleasant as it may be) familiar with the arts by which impos- 
ture too frequently succeeds. If we wish to know to what 
daring lengths cunning can go, to what pitiable self-delusion 


EPILOGUE 


265 


cteclullty can consent, we must watch the proceedings — even 
while we shrink from them — of a Mercy Merrick and a Julian 
Gra3% 

“ In taking up my narrative again, where my last letter left 
off, T must venture to set you right on one point. 

“ Certain expressions which have escaped your pen suggest to 
me that you blame Julian Gray as the cause of Lady Janet’s 
regretable visit to the Refuge, the day after Mercy IMerrick had 
left lier house. This is not quite correct. Julian, as you will 
presently see, has enough to answer for without being held res- 
ponsible for errors of judgment in which he has had no share. 

' Lady Janet (as she herself told me) went to the Refuge of her 
own free will, to ask ]\Iercy Merrick’s pardon for the language 
vhich she had used on the previous day. ‘ I passed a night of 
such misery as no words can descnbe’ — this, 1 assure you, is 
what her ladyship really said to me — ‘ thinking over what my 
vile pride and selfishness and obstinacy had made me say and 
and do. I would have gone down on my knees to beg her par- 
j don if she would have let me. My first happy moment was 

i when I won her consent to come and visit me sometimes at 

I Mablethorpe House.’ 

“ You w ill, 1 am sure, agree with me that such extravagance 
as this is to be pitied rather than blamed. How sad to see the 
decay of the faculties with advancing age ! It is a matter of 
grave anxiety to consider how much longer poor Lady Janet 
can be trusted to manage her own affairs. I shall take an oppor- 
1 tunity of touching on the matter delicately when I next see her 
' lawyer. 

‘ “ I am straying from my subject. And — is it not strange t 

— I am writing to you as confidentially as if we were old 
friends. 

‘‘To return to Julian Gray. Innocent of instigating his 
I aunt’s first visit to the Refuge, he is guilty of having induced 
j her to go there for the second time, the day after I had des- 
' patched my last letter to you. Lady Janet’s object on this oc- 
j casion was neither more nor less than to plead her nephew’s 
cause as humble sui^r for the hand of Mercy Merrick. Ima 
t gine the descendant of one of the oldest families in England 
inviting an adventuress in a Refuge to honour a clergyman of 
, Mie Church of England by becoming his wife ! In what times 


m 


THE NEW MAGHALEN. 


do we live ! My dear mother shed tears of sham© when she 
heard of it. How you would love and admire my mother ! 

I dined at Mablethorpe House by previous appointment, on 
the day when Lady Janet returned from her degrading errand. 

“ ‘ Well? ’ I said, waiting of course until the servant was out 
of the room. 

< Well,’ Lady Janet answered, ‘ Julian was quite right.’ 

“ ‘ Quite right in what ? ’ ^ 

“ ‘ In saying that the earth holds no nobler woman than 
Mercy Merrick.’ 

“ ‘ Has she refused him again ? ’ 

“ * She has refused him again.’ 

** ‘ Thank God ! ’ I felt it fervently, and I said it fervently. 
Lady Janet laid down her knife and fork, and fixed one of her 
fierce looks on me. 

“ ‘ It may not be yonr fault, Horace,’ she said, * if your nature i 
is incapable of comprehending what is great and generous in i 
other natures higher than yours. But the least you can do is 
to distrust your own capacity of appreciation. For the future 
keep your opinions (on questions which you don’t understand) 
modestly to yourself. I have a tenderness for you for your 
father’s sake ; and I take the most favourable view of your 
conduct towards Mercy Merrick. I humanely consider it the 
conduct of a fool.’ (Her own words, Miss Eoseberry. I 
assure you once more, her own words.) ‘ But don’t trespass too - 
far on my indulgence — don’t insinuate again that a woman who ; 

is good enough (if she died this night) to go to Heaven, is not 
good enough to be my nephew’s wife.’ ^ 

“ I expressed to you my conviction a little way back, that it 
was doubtful whether poor Lady Janet would be much longer 
competent to manage her own affairs. Perhaps you thought 
me hasty, then ? What do you think, now ? 

“ It was of course useless to repl}'- seriously to the extraordi- 
nary reprimand that I had received. Besides, I was really ^ 
shocked by a decay of principle which proceeded but too ' 
plainly from decay of the mental powers. I made a soothing 
and respectful reply ; and I was favoured in return with some 
account of what had really happened at the Eefuge. My ^ 
mother and my sisters were disgusted when I repeated the , 
particulars t<? tliem. You will be disgusted too. 


EPILOGTTE. 


20 ? 


^*The interesting penitent (expecting Lady Janet’s visit), 
"was, of course, discovered in a touching domestic position ! 
She had a foundling baby asleep, on her lap; and she was 
teaching the alphabet to an ugly little vagabond girl whose 
acquaintance she had first made in the street. Just the sort of 
artful tMeau vivmt to impose on an old lady — was it not 1 

“ You will understand what followed, when Lady Janet 
opened her matrimonial negotiation. Having perfected herself 
in her part, Mercy Merrick, to do her justice, was not the 
woman to play it badly. The most magnanimous sentiments 
flowed from her lips. She declared that her future life was 
devoted to acts of charity ; typified of course by the foundling 
infant and the ugly little girl. However she might personally 
suffer, whatever might be the sacrifice of her own feelings — 
observe how artfully this was put, to insinuate that she was 
herself in love with him ! — she could not accept from Mr, 
Julian Gray an honour of which she was unworthy. Her 
gratitude to him and her interest in him alike forbade her to 
compromise his brilliant future, by consenting to a marriage 
which would degrade him in the estimation of all his friends. 
She thanked him (with tears); she thanked Lady Janet (with 
more tears) ; but she dare not, in the interests of his honour 
and his happiness, accept the hand that he offered to her. God 
bless and comfort him; and God help her to bear with her 
hard lot ! 

“ The object of this contemptible comedy is plain enough to 
my mind. She is simply holding off (Julian, as you know is a 
poor man), until the influence of Lady Janet’s persuasion is 
backed by the opening of Lady Janet’s purse. In one word — 
settlements ! But for the profanity of the woman’s language, 
and the really lamentable credulity of the poor old lady, the 
whole thing would make a fit subject for a burlesque. 

“ But the saddest part of the story is still to come. 

“ In due course of time, the lady’s decision was commu- 
nicated to Julian Gray. He took leave of his senses on the spoU 
Can you believe it ? — he has resigned his curacy ! At a time, 
when the church is thronged every Sunday to hear him preach , 
this madman shuts the door and walks out of the pulpit. Even 
Lady Janet was not far enough gone in folly to abet him in 
this. She remonstrated, like the rest of his friends. Perfectly 


268 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


useless ! He had but one answer to everything they could say r 
‘ My career is closed.' What stuff! 

** You will ask, naturally enough, what this perverse man is 
going to do next. I don’t scruple to say that he is bent on 
committing suicide. Pray do not be alarmed I There is no fear 
of the pistol, the rope or the river. Julian is simjily courting 
death — within the limits of the law. 

“ This is strong language, I know. Y'ou shall hear what 
the facts are, and judge for yourself. 

“ Having resigned his curacy, his next proceeding v/as to 
offer his services, as volunteer, to a new missionary enterprise 
on tlic West Coast of Africa. The persons at the head of the. 
Mission proved, most fortunately, to have a proper sense of 
their duty. Expressing their conviction of the value of Julian’s 
assistance in the most handsome terms, they made it neverthe- 
less a condition of entertaining his proposal that he should 
eubmit to examination by a competent medical man. After 
some hesitation he consented to this. The doctor’s report was 
conclusive. In Julian’s present state of health the climate of 
West Afiica would in all probability kill him in three months' 
time. 

“ Foiled in his first attempt, he addressed himself next to a 
London Mission. Here, it was impossible to raise the ques- 
tion of climate ; and here I grieve to say, he has succeeded. 

“ He is now working — in other words, he is now deliber- 
ately risking his life — in the Mission to Green Anchor Fields, 
The district known by this name is situated in a remote part 
of London, near the Thames. It is notoriously infested by the 
most desperate and degraded set of wretches in the whole met- 
ropolitan population ; and it is so thickly inhabited that it is 
hardly ever completely free from epidemic disease. In this 
horrible place, and among these dangerous people, Julian is 
now employing himself from morning to night. None of his 
old friends ever see him. Since he joined the mission he 
has not even called on Lady Janet Roy. 

“ My pledge is redeemed — the facts are before you. Am I 
wrong in takng my gloomy view of the prospect f I cann ot 
forget that this unhappy man was once my friend ; and I real- 
ly see no hope for him in the future. Deliberately self-expos- 
ed to the violence of ruffians and tlie outbreak of disease, who 


EPILOGUE. 


2G9 


is to extricate him from his shocking position ? The one per- 
son who can do it is the person whose association with him 
would be his ruin — Mercy Merrick. Heaven only knows what 
disasters it may be my painful duty to communicate to you in 
my next letter ! 

“ You are so kind as to ask me to tell you something about 
myself and my plans. 

“ I have very little to say on either head. After what I 
have suffered — my feelings trampled on, my confidence be- 
trayed — I am as yet hardly capable of deciding what I shall 
do. Returning to my old profession — to the army — is out of 
the question, in these levelling days, when any obscure person 
who can pass an examination may call hims^ilf my brother offi- 
cer, ami may one day perhaps command me as my superior in 
rank. If I think of any career, it is the career of diplomacy. 
Birth and breeding have not quite disappeared as essential 
qualifications in that branch of the public service. But I have 
decided nothing as yet. 

“ My mother and sisters, in the event of your returning to 
Hngland, desire me to say that it will afford tliem the greatest 
]deasure to make your acquaintance. Sympathising with me, 
they do not forget what you too have suffered. A warm wel- 
come awaits you when you pay your first visit at our house. 

“ Most truly yours, 

“ Horace Holmcroft.” 

From Miss Grace Eoseberry to Mr. Horace Holmcroft. 

“ Dear Mr. Holmcroft, — I snatch a few moments from my 
other avocations to thank you for your most interesting and 
delightful letter. How well you describe, how accurately you 
judge ! If Literature stood a little higher as a profession, I 
should almost advise you — but no ! if you entered Literature, 
how could you associate with the people whom you -would be 
likely to meet ? 

“ Between ourselves, I always thought Mr. Julian Gray an 
overrated man. I will not say he has justified my opinion. I 
will only say I pity him. But, dear Mr. Holmcroft, how can 
yon, with your sound judgment, place the sad alternatives now 
before him on the same level ? To die in Green Anchor Fields,. 


270 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


or to fall into the clutches of that vile wretch — is there any 
eomparison between the two 1 Better a thousand times die 
at the post of duty than marry Mercy Merrick. 

“ As I have written the creature’s name, I may add — so as 
to have all the sooner done with the subject — that I shall look 
with anxiety for your next letter. Do not suppose that I feel 
the smallest curiosity about this degraded and designing woman. 
My interest in her is purely religious. To persons of my devout 
turn of mind, she is an awful warning. When I feel Satan near 
me — it will be such a means of grace to think of Mercy Merrick ! 

“ Poor Lady Janet ! I noticed those signs of mental decay to 
which you so feelingly allude, at the last interview I had with 
her in Mablethorpe House. If you can find an opportunity, 
will you say that I wish her well, here and hereafter 1 and you 
will please add, that I do not omit to remember her in my 
prayers. 

“ There is just a chance of my visiting England towards the 
close of the autumn. My fortunes have changed since I wrote 
last. I have been received as reader and companion by a lady 
who is the wife of one of our high judicial functionaries in this 
part of the world. I do not take much interest in him; he is 
what they call ‘ a self-made man.’ His v/ife is charming. Be- 
sides being a person of highly intellectual tastes, she is greatly 
her husband’s superior — as you will understand when I tell you 
that she is related to the Gommereys of Pommery ; not the 
Pommerys of Gommery, who (as your knowledge of our old 
families will inform you) only claim kindred with the younger 
branch of that ancient race. 

“ In the elegant and improving companionship which I now 
enjoy, I should feel quite happy but for one drawback. The 
climate of Canada is not favourable to my kind patroness ; and 
her medical advisers recommend her to winter in London. In 
tliis event, I am to have the privilege of accompanying her. Is 
it necessary to add that my first visit will be paid at your house ? 
I feel already united by sympathy to your mother and your sis- 
ters. There is a sort of freemasonry among gentlewomen, is 
there not 1 With best thanks and remembrances, and many 
delight! Lil anticipations of your next letter, believe me, dear Mj\ 
Holmcroft, 

Truly yours, 

“Grace Roseberey.” 


EPILOGUE. 


271 


III. 

Frm Mr. Horace Holmcroft to Miss Grace Roseberry. 

“ My Dear Miss Roseberry, — Pray excuse my long silence. 

I have waited for mail after mail, in the hope of being able to 
send you some good news at last. It is useless to wait longer. 
My worst forebodings have been realized ; my painful duty 
compels me to write a letter which will surprise and shock you. 

“ Let me describe events in their order as they happened. 
In this way I may hope to gradually prepare your mind for 
what is to come. 

“ About three weeks after I wrote to you last, Julian Gray 
paid the penalty of his headlong rashness. I do not mean that 
he suffered any actual violence at the hands of the people 
among whom he had cast his lot. On the contrary, he suc- 
ceeded, incredible as it may appear, in producing a favourable 
impression on the ruffians about him. As I understand it, 
they began by respecting his courage in venturing among them 
alone ; and they ended in discovering that he was really inter- 
ested in promoting their welfare. It is to the other peril, in- 
dicated in my last letter, that he has fallen a victim — the peril 
of disease. Not long after he began his labours in the dis- 
ti-ict, fever broke out. We only heard that Julian had been 
struck down by the epidemic when it was too late to remove 
him from the lodging that he occupied in the neighbourhood. 

I made inquiries personally the moment the news reached us. 
The doctor in attendance refused to answer for his life. ' 

“ In this alarming state of things, poor Lady Janet, impul- 
sive and unreasonable as usual, insisted on leaving Mablethorpe 
House and taking up her residence near her nephew. 

“ Finding it impossible to persuade her of the folly of re- 
moving from home and its comforts at her age, I felt it my duty 
to accompany her. We found accommodation (such as it was)- 
in a riverside inn, used by ship captains and commercial travel- 
lers. I took it on myself to provide the best medical assist- 
ance, Lady Janet’s insane prejudices against doctors impelling; 
her to leave this important part of the arrangements en- 
tirely in my hands. 

“ It is needless to .weary you by entering into details on; 
the subject of Julianas illness. 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


272 

“ Tlie fever pursued the ordinary course, and was characterised 
oy the usual intervals of delirium and exhaustion succeeding 
each other. Subsequent events, which it is, unfortunatel}^ 
necessary to relate to you, leave me no choice but to dwell (as 
briefly as possible) on the painful subject of the delirium. In 
other cases, the wanderings of fever-stricken people present, I 
am told, a certain variety of range. In Julian’s case they were 
limited to one topic. lie talked incessantly of Mercy Merrick, 
iiis invariable petition to his medical attendants entreated them 
to send for her to nurse him. Day and night that one idea 
was in his mind, and that one name on his lips. 

“ The doctors naturally made inquiries as to this absent per- 
son. I was obliged (in confidence) to state the circumstances 
to them plainly. 

“ The eminent physician whom I had called in to superin- 
tend the treatment behaved admirably. Though he has risen 
iiom the lower order of the people, he has, strange to say, the 
iiisLincts of a gentleman. He thoroughly understood our try- 
ing positio)), and felt all the importance of preventing such a 
person as Mercy Merrick from seizing the opportunity of in- 
ti’uding herself at the bedside. A soothing prescription (I have 
his own authority for saying it) was all that was required to 
meet the patient’s case. The local doctor, on the other hand, 
a young man (and evidently a red-hot lladical), proved to be 
obstinate, and, considering his position, insolent as well. ‘ I 
have nothing to do with the lady’s character and with your 
opinion of it,’ he said to me. ‘ I have only, to the best of my 
judgment, to point out to you the likeliest means of saving the 
patient’s life. Our art is at the end of its resources. Send for 
Mercy Merrick, no matter who she is or what she is. There 
is just a chance — especially if she proves to be a sensible per- 
son and a good nurse — that he may astonish you all by recog- 
nising her. In that case only, his recovery is probable. If you 
persist in disregarding his entreaties, if you let the delirium go 
on for four and twenty hours more, he is a dead man.’ 

“ La(ly Janet was, most unluckily, present when this impu- 
dent opinion was delivered at the bedside. 

“ Need I tell you the sequel ^ Called upon to choose be- 
tween the course indicated by a physician, who is making his 
five thousand a year, and who is certain of the next medical 


EPILOGUE. 


273 


baronetcy, and the advice volunteered by an obscure general 
practitioner at the East End of London, who is not making his 
five hundred a year — need I stop to inform you of her lady- 
ship’s decision 1 You know her ; and you will only too well 
understand that her next proceeding was to pay a third visit to 
the Refuge. 

“ Two hours later — I give you my word of honour I am not 
exaggerating — Mercy Merrick was established at Julian’s bed- 
side. 

“ The excuse, of course, was that it was her duty not to let 
any piivate scruples of her own stand in the way, when a 
medical authority had declared that she might save the patient’s 
life. You will not be surprised to hear that I withdrew from 
the scene. The physician followed my example — after having 
written his soothing prescription, and having been grossly in- 
sulted by the local practitioner’s refusal to make use of it. I 
went back in the doctor’s carriage Ho spoke most feelingly 
and properly. Without giving any positive opinion, I could 
see that he had abandoned all hope of Julian’s recovery. ‘ We 
are in the hands of Providence, Mr. Holnicroft ’ — those were 
his last words as he set me down at my mother’s door. 

I have hardly the heart to go on. If I studied my ov-’n 
wishes, I should feel inclined to stop here. 

“ Let me at least hasten to the end. In two or three days’ 
time, I received my first intelligence of the patient and his 
nurse. Lady Janet informed me that he had recognized her. 
Y’hen I heard this I lelt prepared for what was to come. The 
next report announced that he was gaining strength, and the 
next that he was out of danger. Upon this Lady Janet re- 
turned to Mablethorpe House. I called there a Aveek ago — and 
heard that he had been removed to the seaside. I called yes- 
terday — and received the latest information from her ladyship’s 
own lips. My pen almost refuses to write it. Mercy Merrick 
has consented to marry him ! 

“All Outrage on Society — that is how my mother and my 
sisters view it ; that is how you Avill view it too. My mother 
has herself struck Julian’s name off her invitation list. The 
servants have their orders it he presumes to call : ‘Not at 
home.’ 

B 


274i 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


** I am unhappily only too certain that I am correct, in writing 
to you of this disgraceful marriage as of a settled thing. Lady 
Janet went the length of showing me the letters — one from 
Julian ; the other from the woman herself. Fancy Mercy Men 
rick in correspondence with Lady Janet Roy ! — addressing her 
as ‘ My dear Lady Janet,’ and signing, ‘ Yours affectionately ! ’ 

“ I had not the patience to read either of the letters through. 
Julian’s tone is the tone of a Socialist; in my opinion, his 
bishop ought to be informed of it. As for Jier, she plays her 
part just as cleverly with her pen as she played it with her 
tongue. ‘ I cannot disguise from myself that I am wrong in 
yielding.’ . . . ‘ Sad forebodings fill my mind when I think of 
the future.’ . . . ‘ I feel as if the first contemptuous look that is 
cast at my husband will destroy my happiness, though it may 
not disturb him .^ ‘ As long as 1 was parted from him, I 
could control my own weakness ; I could accept my hard lot. 
But how can I resist him, after having watched for weeks at 
his bedside ; after having seen his first smile, and heard his 
first grateful words to me while I was slowly helping him back 
to life h ’ 

“ There is the tone which she takes through four closely 
written pages of nauseous humility and clap-trap sentiment'. 
It is enough to make one despise women. Thank God, there 
is the contrast at hand, to remind me of what is due to the 
better few among the sex. 1 feel that my mother and my 
sisters are doubly precious to me now. May I add, on the side 
of consolation, that I prize with hardly inferior gratitude the 
privilege of corresponding with you ? 

“ Farewell, for the present. 1 am too rudely shaken in my 
most cherished convictions; I am too depressed and disheartened 
to write more. All good wishes go with you, dear Miss Roso' 
berry, until we meet. 

“ Most truly yours, 

“ Horace Holmcroft.’* 


EPILOGUE. 


275 


IV. 

Extrasts from the Diary of The Reverend Julian Grey, 
First Extract. 

. . “ A month to-day since we were married ! I have only 
one thing to say : I would cheerfully go through all that 1 
have suftered to live this one month over again. I never knew 
what happiness was until now. And better still, I have per- 
suaded Mercy that it is all her doing. I have scattered her 
misgivings to the winds; she is obliged to submit to evidence, 
and to own that she can make the happiness of my life. 

“ We go back to London to-morrow. She regrets leaving 
the tranquil retirement of this remote seaside place— she dreads 
change. I care nothing for it. It is all one to me where I go, 
80 long as my wife is with me. 

Second Extract. 

“ The first cloud has risen. I entered the room unexpectedly 
just now, and found her in tears. 

“With considerable diflSculty I persuaded her to tell me 
what had happened. Are there any limits to the mischief that 
can be done by the tongue of a foolish woman 1 The land- 
lady at my lodgings is the woman in this case. Having no 
decided plans foi the future as yet, we returned (most unfortun- 
ately, as the event has proved,) to the rooms in London which 
I inhabited in my bachelor days. They are still mine for six 
weeks to come, and Mercy was unwilling to let me incur the 
expense of taking her to an hotel. At breakfast this morning, 
I rashly congratulated myself (in my wife’s hearing) on finding 
that a much smaller collection than usual of letters and cards 
had accumulated in my absence. Breakfast over, I was obliged 
to go out. Painfully sensitive, poor thing, to any change in 
my experience oi the little world around me which it is possi- 
ble to connect with the event of my marriage, Mercy ques- 
tioned the landlady, in my absence, about the diminished num- 
ber of my visitors and my correspondents. The woman seized 
the opportunity of gossiping about me and my aaaij s, and my 


276 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


wife’s quick perception drew the right conclusion nner^’ingly. 
My marriage has decided certain wise heads of families on dis-' 
continuing their social relations with me. The facts unfor- 
tunately speak for themselves. People who, in former years, 
habitually called upon me and invited me — or who, in the 
event of my absence, habitually wrote to me at this season — 
have abstained with a remarkable unanimity from calling, in- 
viting, or writing now. 

“ It would have been sheer waste of time — to say nothing 
of its also implying a want of confidence in my wife — if 1 had 
attempted to set things right by disputing Mercy’s conclusion. 
1 could only satisfy her that not so much as the shadow o. 
disappointment or mortification rested on my mind. In this 
way I have, to some extent, succeeded in composing my poor 
darling. But the wound has been inflicted, and the wound is 
felt. There is no disguising that result. I must face it boldly. 

“ Trifling as this incident is in my estimation, it has decided 
me on one point already. In shaping my future course, I am 
now resolved to act on my own convictions — in preference to 
taking the well-meant advice of such friends as are still left to 
me. 

“ Most of my success in life has been gained in the pulpit. 
I am what is termed a popular preacher — but I have never, iq 
my secret self, felt any exultation in my own notoriety, or any 
extraordinary respect for the means by which it has been won. 
In the first place, I have a very low idea of the importance Oi 
oratory as an intellectual accomplishment. There is no other 
art in which the conditions of success are so easy of attainment ; 
there is no other art in the practice of which so much that is 
purely superficial passes itself off habitually for something that 
claims to be profound. Then again, how poor it is in the 
results which it achieves ! Take my own case. How often 
(for example) have I thundered with all my heart and soul 
against the wicked extravagance of dress amongst women — 
against their filthy false hair, and their nauseous powders and 
paints ! How often (to take another example) have I denounced 
the mercenary and material spirit of the age, the habitual cor- 
ruptions and dishonesties of commerce, in high places and in 
low ! What good have I done ? I have delighted the very 
people whom it was my object to rebuke. ‘ What a charming 


EPILOGUE. 


277 


Sermon !* ‘More eloquent than ever!’ ‘I used to dread the 
sermon at the other church — do you know I quite look forward 
to it now 'I ’ That is the effect I produce on Sunday. On 
Monday the women are off to the milliners to spend more 
money than ever; the City men are off to business to make 
more money than ever — while my grocer, loud in my praises 
in his Sunday coat, turns up his week-day sleeves and adulter- 
ates his favourite preacher’s sugar as cheerfully as usual. 

“ I have often, in past years, felt the objections to pursuing 
my career which are here indicated. They were bitterly pres- 
ent to my mind when I resigned my curacy, and they strongly 
influence me now. 

“ I am weary of my cheaply-won success in the pulpit. I am 
weary of society as I find it ia my time. I felt some respect 
for myself and some heart and hope in my work, among the 
miserable wretches in Green Anchor Fields. But I cannot, 
and must not, return among them : I have no right, now, to 
trifle with my health and my life. I must go back to my 
preaching, or I must leave England. Among a primitive peo- 
ple; away from the cities — in the far and fertile AVest of the 
great American continent — I might live happily with my wiu, 
and do good among my neighbours ; secure of providing for 
our wants out of tlie modest little income which is almost use- 
less to me here. In the life which I thus picture to myself I 
see love, peace, health, and duties and occupations that are 
worthy of a Christian man. What prospect is before me, ii I 
take the advice of my friends and stay here ? Work of which 
I am weary, because I have long since ceased to respect it ; 
petty malice that strikes at me through my wife, and mortifies 
and humiliates her, turn where she may. If I had only myself 
to think of, I might defy the worst that malice can do. But I 
have Mercy to think of — Mercy, whom I love better than my 
own life I Women live, poor things, in the opinions of others. 
I have had one warning already of what my wife is likely to 
sufter at the hands of my ‘ friends ’ — Heaven forgive me for 
misusing the word I Shall I deliberately expose her to fresh 
mortifications? — and this for the sake*of returning to a Career 
the rew^ards of which I no longer prize ? No I We will both be 
happy — we will both be free I God is merciful ; Nature is 
Kind ; Love is true, in the New World as well as the Old. To 
the New World we will go • ” 


278 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


Third Extract. 

“ I hardly know whether I have done right or wrong. I 
mentioned yesterday to Lady Janet the cold reception of me 
on my return to London, and the painful sense of it felt by my 
wife. 

“ My aunt looks at the matter from her own peculiar point 
of view, and makes light of it accordingly. ‘You never did, 
and never will, understand Society, Julian, said her ladysldp. 
* These poor stupid people simply don’t know what to do. Th(‘y 
are waiting to be told by a person of distinction whether they 
are, or are not, to recognise your marriage. In plain English, 
they are waiting to be led by Me. Consider it done. I will 
lead them.* 

“I thought my aunt was joking. The event of to day has 
shown me that she is terribly in earnest. Lady Janet has is- 
sued invitations for one of her grand balls at Mablethorpe House; 
and she has caused the report to be circulated everywhere that 
the object of the festival is ‘ to celebrate the marriage of Mr. 
and Mrs. Julian Gray’ ! 

“ I at first refused to be present. To my amazement, how- 
ever, Mercy sides with my aunt. She reminds me of all that 
we both owe to Lady Janet ; and she has persuaded me to 
alter my mind. We are to go to the ball — at my wife’s express 
request ! 

“ The meaning of this, as I interpret it, is that my poor love 
is still pursued in secret by the dread that my marriage has 
injured me in the general estimation. She will suffer any- 
thing, risk anything, believe anything, to be freed from that one 
haunting doubt. Lady Janet predicts a social triumph ; and my 
wife’s despair — not my wife’s conviction — accepts the prophecy. 
As for me, lam prepared for the result. It will end in our going 
to the New World, and trying Society in its infancy, among 
the forests and the plains. I shall quietly prepare for our de- 
pature, and own what I have done at the right time — that is to 
say, when the ball is over.” 

Fourth Extract. 

“I have met with the man for my purpose — an old college 
friend of mine, now partner in a firm of shipowner?, largely 
concerned in emigration. 


EPILOGUE. 


279 


One of their vessels sails for America from the port of 
London, in a fortnight ; touching at Plymouth. By a fortun- 
ate coincidence, Lady Janet’s ball takes place in a fortnight. I 
see my wayi 

“ Helped by the kindness of my friend, I have arranged to 
have a cabin kept in reserve, on payment of a small deposit. If 
the ball ends (as I believe it will) in new mortifications for 
JMercy — do what they may, I defy them to mortify me — I have 
only to say the word by telegraph ; and we shall catch the ship 
at Plymouth. 

“I know the effect it will have when I break the news to her ; 
but I am prepared with my remedy. The pages of my diary, 
written in past years, will show plainly enough that it is not 
she who is driving me away from England. She will see the 
longing in me for other work and other scenes, expressing 
itself over and over again, long before the time wdieu we first 
met. 

Fifth Extract. 

“ Mercy’s ball-dress — a present from kind Lady Janet — is 
finished. I was allowed to see the first trial, or preliminary 
rehearsal, of this work of art. I don’t in the least understand 
the merits of silk and lace ; but one thing I know — my wife 
will be the most beautiful woman at the ball. 

“ The same day I called on Lady Janet to thank her, and 
encountered a new revelation of the wayward and original cha* 
racter of my dear old aunt. 

“Shew^as on the point of tearing up a letter when I went 
into her room. Seeing me, she suspended her purpose and 
handed me the letter. It was in Mercy’s handwriting. Lady 
Janet pointed to a passage on the last page. ‘ Tell your wife, 
with my love,’ she said, ‘ that I am the most obstinate woman 
of the two. I positively refuse to read her, as I positively 
refused to listen to her, whenever she attempts to return to 
that one subject. Now give me the letter back.’ I gave it 
back, and saw it torn up before my face. The ‘one topic’ 
prohibited to Mercy as sternly as ever, is still the persona- 
tion of Grace Eoseberry! Nothing could have been more 
naturally introduced, or more delicately managed, than 
my wife’s brief reference to the subject No matter. The 


280 


THE NEW MAGDALEN. 


reading of the first line was enough. Lady Janet shut hef 
eyes and destroyed the letter — Lady Janet will live and die 
absolutely ignorant of the true story of ‘ Mercy Merrick.’ 
What unanswerable riddles we are ! Is it wonderful if we per* 
petually fad to understand one another 

Last Extract. 

Tlie morning after the ball. 

“ It is done and over. Society has beaten Lady Janet. I 
have neither patience nor time to write at any length of it. 
We leave lor Plymouth by the afternoon express. 

“ We were rather late in arriving at the ball. The magnifi* 
cent rooms were filling fast. Walking through them with my 
wife, she drew my attention to a circumstance which I had not 
noticed at the time. ‘Julian,’ slie said, ‘look round among 
the ladies, and tell me if you see anything strange.’ As I looked 
round the band began playing a waltz. I observed that a few 
people only passed by us to the dancing-room. I noticed next 
that of those few fewer still were young. At last it burst upon 
me. With certain exceptions (so rare as to prove the rule), 
there were no young girls at Lady Janet’s ball. I took Mercy 
at once back to the reception-room. Lady Janet’s lace showed 
that she too was aware of what had happened. The guests were 
still arriving. We received the men and their wives, the men 
and their mothers, the men and their grandmothers, — but, in 
place of their unmarried daughters ; elaborate excuses oftered 
with a shameless politeness wonderlul to see. Yes ! This was 
how the matrons in high life had got over the difficulty of 
meeting Mrs. Julian Gray at Lady Janet’s house. 

“ Let me do strict justice to every one. The ladies who 
were present showed the needful respect for their hostess. They 
did their duty — no, overdid it, is perhaps the better phrase. 

“ I really had no- adequate idea of the coarseness, and rudeness 
which have filtered their way through society in these later 
times until I saw the reception accorded to my wife. The 
days of prudery and prejudice are days gone by. Excessive ami- 
ability and excessive liberality are the two favourite assumptions 
of the modern generation. To see the women expressing their 
dberal forgetfulness of my wife’s misfortunes, and the men 


EPILOGUE. 


281 


their amiable anxiety to encourage her husband — to hear the 
same set phrases repeated in every room : ‘ So charmed to- 

make your acquaintance, Mrs. Gray ; so much obliged to dear 
Lady Janet for giving us this opportunity ! — Julian, old man, 
what a beautiful creature ! I envy you ; upon my honour, I 
envy you !’ — to receive this sort of welcome, emphasised by 
obtrusive hand-shakings, sometimes actually by downright hiss- 
ings of my wife, and then to look round and see that not one 
in thirty of these very people had brought their unmarried 
daughters to the ball, was, I honestly believe, to see civilised 
human nature in its basest conceivable aspect. The New World 
ma}' have its disappointments in store for us — but it cannot pos- 
sibly show us any spectacle so abject as the spectacle which we 
witnessed last night at my aunt’s ball, 

‘*Lady Janet marked her sense of the proceeding adopted by 
her guests by leaving them to themselves. Her guests remained 
and supped heartily notwithstanding. They all knew by ex- 
perience that there were no stale dishes and no cheap wines at 
Mablethorpe House. They drank to the end of the bottle, and 
they ate to the last truffle in the pie. 

“ Mercy and 1 had an interview with my aunt upstairs before 
we left. I felt it necessary to state plainly my resolution to leave 
England. The scene that followed was so painful that I cannot 
prevail on myself to return to it in these pages. My wife is 
reconciled to our departure ; and Lady Janet accompanies us as 
far as Plymouth, these are the results. No words can ex[)ress my 
sense of relief now that it is all settled. The one sorrow I shall 
carry away with me from the shores of England will be the 
sorrow of parting with dear warm-hearted Lady Janet. At 
her age it is a parting for life. 

“ So closes my connection with my own country. While I 
have Mercy by my side, I face the unknown future, certain of 
carrying my happiness wdtli me, go where I may. We shall 
find five hundred adventurers like ourselves when we join the 
emigrant ship, for whom their native land has no occupation 
and no home. Gentlemen of the Statistical Department, add 
two more to the number of social failures produced by England 
in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and seventy one — 
Julian Gray and Mercy Merrick.” 


The End. 


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